


Your Mouth Is Poison, Your Mouth Is Wine

by Sauronix, Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry sparring, Antagonism, Awkward Crush, Bottom Gladio, Cumshot, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Feelings, Ignis Is Being a Bit of a Dick, Light Bondage, Locked room scenario, M/M, Masturbation, No Safe Word, Oral Sex, Reference to Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Rivals to Lovers, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: “Time is a precious commodity, Mr. Amicitia,” Ignis says flatly, “so I suggest we don't waste any more of it than is absolutely necessary.” He flicks Gladio a look of unfiltered disdain—payback for being late. “I'm sure you must have important abdominal crunches to be doing.”The smile on Gladio’s face fades. His nostrils flare slightly—then, as though that response was a figment of the imagination, he's grinning again. Still, there's a certain satisfaction in seeing the other man rattled, even just momentarily.“Well, I'd hate to keep you from cuttin’ Noct’s breakfast into bite size pieces, or foldin’ his pyjamas,” Gladio says.Gladio and Ignis are drawn to each other, but for all the wrong reasons. This is... a problem.





	1. Ignis

**Author's Note:**

> This idea spiralled from a prompt Nix wanted to see about Gladio and Ignis in an antagonistic relationship that resulted in lots of angry sex. I'm not sure she imagined it would turn into this project...
> 
> Chapters will alternate between Ignis and Gladio. I will be writing the former and Sauronix writing the latter. :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are sunshine and happiness. <3

So much for peace and quiet.

Ignis looks up at the sound of approaching voices, instantly recognising the end of his solitude as he stands in the corridor, reading over his notes from the meeting that's just concluded. Crownsguard recruits, numbering about eight, all enthusiasm and boundless energy, head toward him. He stands to one side, allowing them to pass. They barely glance his way. He catches the tail end of their conversation before they disappear around the corner, which appears to be an animated discussion about a training session they had yesterday with the king’s shield.

_The king's shield._

It's an impressive sounding title, certainly, but really it's just a glorified bodyguard role, perfect for one whose muscle mass is more important than what's going on between his ears. Speak of the devil - here comes the man given that prestigious title.

Gladiolus Amicitia.

Laughably named after a flower, the other man is a tick list of clichés, with his rippling muscles, face-splitting grin and supreme confidence. He's seen him out with other members of the Crownsguard and, _ugh_ , it's all too loud voices and wild braggadocio about the things they've done.

Presumably, Gladio is heading down to the gym, given his attire. As they pass in the corridor, they give each other a curt nod of acknowledgment. They’re on speaking terms, but they exchange very few words for the most part. It's not something he finds an issue; his schedule gives him very little time for socializing and small talk, and it's doubtful they'd have much in common to talk about anyway.

For all his doubts about their compatibility, and his less than favourable thoughts on the overblown status given to the role of king’s shield, he will grudgingly concede that Gladiolus has his merits. Responsible for Noct’s physical development, he pushes the prince in his training more than some of the other tutors, who appear to cut him far too much slack because, well, _he's a prince._

There’s also another point he must acknowledge - one that horrifies him and that he'd never admit out loud, even under threat of torture. Good gods, _no_.

And it's that Gladiolus Amicitia is possibly the hottest specimen of a man he's ever laid eyes on.

As much as he's not entirely convinced that Clarus Amicitia’s son is the best choice to mould the future monarch into a fine upstanding citizen, it’s still Gladio’s face that he pictures when he's alone in his room at night; Gladio's body that he imagines pressed against his own; Gladio’s _name_ that he moans softly when he brings himself to completion in his own bed. His orgasms are always more powerful when Gladio is in his mind’s eye.

Once, Gladio had accidentally left his t-shirt behind in the locker room and he took it home, intending to pass it onto him the next day. Gods help him, but he may or may not have… pressed the item of clothing to his face - purely to see if it needed washing, naturally - but had orgasmed harder than he ever had in his life. He knows this... _thing_ is neither appropriate nor dignified, and he loathes every part of it because, come _on_ , it's _Gladio_.

It's impossible to look the other man in the eye the morning after he's spent the night imagining them being intimate, but it's not usually a problem because they don't cross paths that often. When he arrives at the citadel the morning after he's spent the night imagining Gladio bending him over his dining table, he's horrified to be summoned to Regis’s quarters where he finds the king waiting for him… with the object of his fantasies standing beside him.

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing low. “Gladiolus.”

The eye contact is brief. If he focusses on Regis, he can pretend that Gladio isn’t there - good job, really, since all he can think of is the other man drilling into him until he can't walk. He clears his throat quickly.

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?”

Regis smiles and nods. “I wanted to see you both.”

He glances at Gladio quickly to find the other man is watching him. Heat rushes to his cheeks. The sooner he can get out of here and away from that scrutiny, the better.

“I've called you here because you two are primarily responsible for my son’s wellbeing.” Regis tents his fingers on the desk in front of him. “I'm incredibly impressed by everything you've done so far; considering you're only a couple of years older than Noctis, you both show a maturity beyond your years.”

 _Some of us do_ , Ignis thinks as he pictures Gladio and his Crownsguard buddies daring each other to light their own farts. Instead, he says, “Your praise is gratefully received, Your Majesty.”

“But in order to prepare Noctis for his duties as a monarch as he reaches adulthood, I think it would be better if you two could meet more regularly to discuss his progress - a more holistic approach, if you will.”

“How... how often are you envisaging?” he asks.

“I believe several times a week should be sufficient.” Regis studies both of them in turn and smiles, his eyes twinkling with curious amusement, presumably at their less than enthusiastic expressions.

“I hope you'll enjoy spending more time together.”

Oh… dear.

 

TBC... 

 


	2. Gladio

The king dismisses them both, so they don’t really have much choice but to leave his quarters together. They bow at the same time, and then they turn to go, their footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling as they cross the marble floor. Ignis walks stiffly a half-step ahead of him, his back ramrod straight, like the only thing holding him upright is the massive stick lodged in his ass. Gladio actually has to bite back a chuckle at the sight of him.  
  
It’s pretty obvious, both to him and anyone else who’s seen them interact, that Ignis loathes him. Gladio’s ready to put down good money that the king’s decree is eating Ignis up inside.  
  
To be fair, he ain’t exactly pleased about the idea, either. He doesn’t _hate_ Ignis. Generally, he tries to go through life getting along with everyone. It just makes things so much easier. But the dismissive way Ignis looks at him—has always looked at him—just gets on his nerves. Yeah, his job has a lot of physical demands, and yeah, he busts his ass to look the way he does, but Ignis treats him like his body’s all he has going for him. A lot of people do, but they aren’t jerks about it like Ignis is. Ignis acts like he’s better than Gladio because he attends council meetings and kisses Noct’s royal ass morning, noon, and night.  
  
Sure, he’s a brainiac, but he’s also boring as hell. Gladio’s never seen him in anything less than dress pants, a starched button-down, and a tie, and he doesn’t seem to have much of a social life. He works literally all the time. Even when Noct managed to drag him out to the bar on his eighteenth birthday, Ignis sat in the corner with his little notebook, his lips pinched together like a toothless grandma, and spent the evening writing notes while the rest of them got hammered. If he’s not taking minutes for the council, he’s waiting on Noct hand and foot, and when he’s not doing either of those, he’s slaving over paperwork in his office at the Citadel. At times Gladio wonders if he even has a home, or if he just sleeps under his desk.  
  
Maybe he doesn’t even sleep at all. Some days, the circles under his eyes are as dark as bruises.  
  
And the worst thing? The very worst? He manages to look damn good even when he’s clearly exhausted. Sometimes Gladio catches a glimpse of him and he forgets Ignis is a crusty party pooper with his collar done up too tight, because all he can see are those huge green eyes in his pale face, and his full lips, and the fit of his pants on his perfect ass.  
  
Yeah, Gladio wants to fuck him almost as bad as he wants to deck him, and it pisses him off. On more than a few occasions, in the middle of some quality one-on-one time with his right hand, Ignis’s face has swum unexpectedly to the surface of his fantasies. It never kills his boner, either. If anything, it makes him come faster and harder than usual—especially when he thinks about Ignis on his knees, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, with Gladio’s cock down his throat. It’s hot. Hotter than it has any right to be.  
  
Then he goes to work the next day and has a shitty encounter with the flesh-and-blood man, and he remembers why he’s never done anything about this weird attraction.  
  
“Guess this means we have some things to figure out,” he says as the doors click shut behind them.  
  
“Indeed,” Ignis says. He pushes his glasses up his nose and spears Gladio with one of his trademark haughty looks. “You can find my email address in the Citadel directory. Please send me a note when you have the chance, and we can coordinate our schedules.”  
  
_A note. Shiva’s fuckin’ tits._  
  
“Thought maybe we could exchange phone numbers instead,” Gladio says. “Texting’s easier than email.”  
  
“An email is official,” Ignis insists.  
  
“Official?” Gladio runs a hand through his hair and huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You planning to take me in front of a tribunal or something?”  
  
Ignis raises an eyebrow at him, unamused. “That all depends on your conduct over the next few weeks, but I have no current plans to do anything of the sort. I merely like to keep a paper trail of all my professional interactions.”  
  
“Yeah? You keep a paper trail when you’re scrubbing Noct’s toilet?”  
  
That earns him a scowl. “His Highness has cleaning staff for that. I merely prepare his meals and tidy his paperwork. What exactly are you trying to insinuate?”  
  
“Nothing.” Gladio holds out his hand and looks at him expectantly. “Now give me your damn phone.”  
  
Ignis blows a frustrated breath out his nose, but he pulls his device out of his pocket and hands it over. Gladio opens the messaging app and finds two existing conversations—one with Noct, the other with someone called Eirene. Who the hell is that? He’s pretty sure there’s no one in the Citadel by that name. It doesn’t even sound Lucian. He hovers over the message thread for a second, desperately curious about its contents, but Ignis would see if he clicked on it, so he starts a new conversation instead. He types in his own number and sends himself a text.  
  
“There,” he says, handing the phone back to Ignis. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  
  
“Relatively painless,” Ignis says coolly. “I’ll share my calendar with you as soon as I’m back in my office. You can choose a time to meet and send me an invitation. My schedule tomorrow is full, but I may have fifteen minutes to spare on Thursday.”  
  
Gladio smirks. He’s never met anyone this fucking pretentious who isn’t royalty or a modern artist. “Think you can trust me with a task this monumental?”  
  
“Not entirely, but I suppose I have little choice.” Ignis’s eyes flick disdainfully from Gladio’s eyes to his abs to his shoes, then back again. “I await your text message, my lord Amicitia.”  
  
And with no further ado, Ignis turns on his heel and strides away. Gladio watches him go, his hands balling into fists, just itching to fuck the arrogance out of him. Oh, yeah, he’d love to see Ignis spread out beneath him, flushed and sweaty, too full of Gladio’s dick to do much besides moan incoherently, that big, stupid brain of his turned to soup by overstimulated nerves.  
  
Shit. This isn’t the reaction he’s supposed to have to his nemesis.  
  
Probably.  
  
Sighing, he gives his head a shake and makes for the training room. He’s gonna need a cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this so far! As usual, kudos and comments are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	3. Ignis

Oh _good grief_.

Once he's a safe distance away, and sure Gladio has gone in the opposite direction - probably to the training room to work on his glutes or something equally ridiculous - he stops and closes his eyes. Letting out a long, wearied breath, he lifts his glasses so that he can massage his eyes for a moment. In his other hand he realises he's still holding his phone. He glances at it like it's contaminated with something… not necessarily _bad_ , but something contagious that he should probably be afraid of.

He doesn't _hate_ Gladio. The man's an Amicitia and that means something in Lucis. He's been raised with strong morals and a good work ethic and he’ll always be true to his word, but that doesn't make him _likeable_. What just happened is a perfect example of that, because who takes another person’s phone and just _forces_ their contact details on someone? An email would have been perfectly sufficient, but Gladio is the kind of man who thinks he can make anyone bend to his will, whether it's through charm or aggression.

He replaces his glasses and pushes them into place, irritation firming his resolve to deal with this situation with complete professionalism. Gladio is going to be in for a shock when he realises that he’ll be neither charmed nor bullied. He won't let the other man get under his skin, no matter how much he tries.

In bed that night he pleasures himself, and he absolutely, definitely is _not_ thinking of Gladio when he does it.

OoOoO

Thursday morning, he's at his desk when his office door opens.

“You're late.”

He looks up in time to see Gladio glancing at his watch as he pushes the door closed with his foot. He looks like he's about to laugh.

“You're shittin’ me, right? It's exactly eight thirty… Or it was two minutes ago.”

He studies the other man reproachfully. He'd not be the least bit surprised if Gladio had been here at half past and had hung back for a couple of minutes deliberately so that he wouldn't be on time. The smirk on his face says as much.

“Time is a precious commodity, Mr. Amicitia,” he says flatly, “so I suggest we don't waste anymore of it than is absolutely necessary.” He flicks Gladio a look of unfiltered distain - payback for being late. “I'm sure you must have important abdominal crunches to be doing.”

The smile on Gladio’s face fades. His nostrils flare slightly - then, as though that response was a figment of the imagination, he's grinning again. Still, there's a certain satisfaction in seeing the other man rattled, even just momentarily.

“Well, I'd certainly hate to keep you from cuttin’ Noct’s breakfast into bite size pieces, or foldin’ his pyjamas,” Gladio says pleasantly and, _gods_ , now he has the audacity to come and sit on his desk, papers creasing beneath his sizeable frame.

“As I already told you,” he replies coolly, pulling the crushed files out from underneath Gladio’s behind. “Noctis has other staff for… less important duties.” He deliberately makes eye contact and fixes the other man with a cutting smile.

Again, there's that flicker of restrained irritation. Good.

“So,” he says neutrally, as if the last exchange never took place. “I’ve studied both of our schedules and I propose we meet Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I trust eight a.m. will be agreeable to you?”

He watches Gladio’s expression as he, too, aims for neutrality. He knows full well that Gladio does breakfast with his Crownsguard friends most Thursday mornings, just as he can be found around the bars of Insomnia until the early hours of a Sunday morning, making two out of three suggested days… inconvenient. He’s also heard Gladio grumbling before now that he’s not an early riser, so being up, out and at the citadel for eight a.m. is not something he’ll be happy about.

“There's nothing in your official schedule on any of those mornings,” he continues with feigned innocence that he knows Gladio will see through easily, “but obviously if it's a problem, then you could always speak to Regis and explain that you're unable to meet your obligations. I'm _sure_ the king won't mind.”

Gladio smiles, but it's not quite as amused as his usual one.

“Not at all; eight a.m. is fine with me.”

OoOoO

Following this setting of dates, they have a brief, perfunctory discussion about Noctis before Gladio takes his leave. He'll admit there's a certain amount of pleasure to be found needling Gladio like this. It's just so _easy_. It certainly removed the inane smirk, at any rate.

He turns from his desk to look out of the window in time to see the king’s shield cross the courtyard. He's met Gladio’s type before - brawn who look down on those who favour brains; strength the only currency that counts. He knows what Gladio thinks when he looks at him: that he's an ass kisser who lives to serve and nothing more. So he's going to play that role and follow Regis’s orders to the letter.

And he's going to make Gladio's life hell, every step of the way.

His day is a busy one and he manages to make it through without thinking of Gladio at all. When he climbs into bed that evening, he's determined to ensure that his thoughts don't stray to those rock hard abs and broad shoulders. Frankly, it's all a bit unseemly - no matter how hot they are.

This is all well and good while he's awake, but once he's fast asleep, it's clear he doesn't have the same level of control over his subconscious, which thrusts him into a dream where Gladio is front and centre alongside himself. In it, he's splayed over his usually well-ordered desk in the citadel, trousers and underwear bunched around his ankles. He's gripping the edges of the furniture as if he might fall off the world if he doesn't, and around him - scattered on the floor and crushed underneath him - is all his usually pristine paperwork. The only sounds are the rhythmic thumping as Gladio drills into him, fingers gripping his hips so hard they'll almost certainly leave bruises, and their unsynchronised grunts of exertion.

Somehow, even within the confines of a dream he knows he shouldn't be doing this with _this man_. He wants to tell Gladio to stop, but instead he hears his own voice telling him to go harder and faster. The shock at his own disloyalty isn't enough to stop him orgasming with an intensity that rips a loud cry from his throat that will surely echo down the hallway, and straight into the ears of all those within the citadel who hold him in high esteem.

He wakes suddenly, gripping the bedsheets and breathing hard. The dream was so vivid, for a moment he wonders if it was real. A light sheen of sweat covers his bare torso, unpleasant now he's aware of it. He pulls back the sheets and… _what in the Six?_

He’s primed and ready to issue a denial, but when he reaches over to flick on the light, there's no escaping the facts. He's had a… a _nocturnal emission._

A wet dream.

He's horrified. He's not some hormone-raddled teenager, new to the delights of intercourse and onanism, for goodness’ sake.

As he balls up the sticky bedsheets, mortification fuelling his rush to get clean, he tells himself that he's being ridiculous. Dreams don't mean anything; that it was Gladio in the dream was just coincidence - a mere response to interacting with the man earlier that day. It doesn't reflect any desire to make the dream reality.

Not wanting to risk sleep again, he goes to make himself some coffee. Logically, he knows Gladio isn't actually responsible for any of this, but he's still incredibly irked and already planning some form of retribution as he waits for the water to boil.

Maybe he'll suggest that they move their meetings to seven a.m. instead. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments / kudos so far! This is proving a lot of fun to write! :)


	4. Gladio

_Fucking Ignis. Stupid, smug_ prick.  
  
With the last of his strength, Gladio pummels the punching bag, grunting with exertion as he strikes with short, quick jabs. When it swings back toward him, he grabs it in both hands and rests his forehead against it, breathing hard. Shit, his arms are sore. He’s been at this for forty-five minutes. Not that it’s helped much; he’s still itching to smack Ignis or throttle him or— _hell—_ kiss the snark right out of his mouth.  
  
It’s bad enough they can’t get along. Wanting Ignis makes it a million times worse.  
  
Closing his eyes, he breathes deep. Leave it to Ignis to pick the worst possible times to meet. He wants to give Ignis the benefit of the doubt, because it’s not like he’s aware Gladio goes for breakfast with his friends every Thursday, right? But this is Ignis fucking Scientia, and he knows everything. He picked that day and time for a reason. As for their Sunday meetings, that’s just a dick move.  
  
Gladio ain’t gonna complain, though. He’s not gonna give Ignis the satisfaction. He’s gonna show up five minutes early for every gods-damned meeting, and he’s gonna enjoy watching Ignis scowl about it.  
  
The doors to the gym open and three of his Crownsguard buddies—Magnus, Rufus, and Cyril—pour in, their laughter echoing in the empty room. Gladio looks up at them, wiping sweat out of his eyes. He needs a damn shower. The front of his tank top is soaked right through.  
  
“Hey, man,” Cyril says, boosting himself up to sit on a stack of wrestling mats. “We were thinking of hitting Flora’s for breakfast tomorrow. Can I grab a ride with you?”  
  
“Can’t.” Gladio lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. “Got a meeting at eight in the morning.”  
  
“Bummer. Maybe next Thursday?”  
  
Gladio shakes his head and laughs. “Nah, this is a weekly thing. Won’t be making it out with you guys for the next few months. Same goes with Saturdays at the bar.”  
  
“You’re kidding,” Magnus says.  
  
“Wish I was.”  
  
Rufus frowns. “Can’t you move the meeting?”  
  
“The guy I’m meeting with has a really busy schedule,” Gladio says. “You know Ignis Scientia? The prince’s doormat?” When all three of them nod in recognition, he goes on. “The king wants us to meet three times a week to talk about Noct’s progress. Ignis chose Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays at eight in the morning. So I gotta go.”  
  
Rufus crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow at Gladio. “He has to be fucking with you. Who the hell chooses eight on a Sunday morning to have a meeting?”  
  
“Ignis,” Gladio says, scratching his chest. “He doesn’t have a life. He works all the time.”  
  
“Well, you have to get back at him somehow,” Magnus chimes in. “You’re not gonna let that shit fly, are you?”  
  
Gladio doesn’t _want_ to let that shit fly, but he sure doesn’t wanna stoop to Ignis’s level, either. Besides, Ignis would probably make his life a living hell if he tried to pull anything. Ignis is polite, but Gladio gets the sense he’s a ruthless bastard under his put-together facade. Way more ruthless than Gladio, anyway. Pushing his buttons is one thing. Actively crossing him would be suicide.  
  
“Seriously, Gladio, you need to lay down the law,” Cyril says, narrowing his eyes at Gladio from where he’s perched on the mats. “You’re not going to let some skinny dweeb push you around, are you?”  
  
“I ain’t letting him push me around.”  
  
“Yeah, you are,” Cyril says. “You have to put him in his place, or he’ll just keep pushing and pushing. Be a proud Amicitia, man.”  
  
Gladio shakes his head and starts unwrapping the boxing tape from his hands. “I’ll think about it.”

  
*

  
By the time Thursday morning rolls around, Gladio’s already made up his mind. He’s not going to do anything _bad_ to Ignis, but he’s going to ruffle his feathers a little, let him know Gladio ain’t gonna quietly put up with his bullshit.  
  
He smooths a hand down the front of his henley and knocks once on Ignis’s office door before he lets himself in. Ignis is sitting behind his desk, his phone at his ear. He isn’t saying anything, but he’s nodding, and when he sees Gladio, he holds up one finger. Gladio takes a seat in the leather chair across from him, lacing his hands over his belly as he looks around the room. The place is sparsely decorated, the walls bare. There are bookshelves crammed with encyclopedias and binders, each one labelled in Ignis’s neat print. _Budget_ , one says. _Taxes_ , says another.  
  
Boring stuff. It’s all perfectly Ignis.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Ignis says. “Yes, I understand. I’ll be sure to let him know. No, no, the pleasure is all mine. Yes, sir. Thank you. Have a nice day.” He hangs up and sets the phone down on the desk, finally turning his attention to Gladio. “Apologies. Noct has a dental appointment tomorrow and His Majesty wanted to discuss transportation logistics.”  
  
“Cool,” Gladio says.  
  
Ignis reaches for his coffee mug. “How are you this morning?”  
  
“Fine,” Gladio says. “You?”  
  
“Busy,” Ignis says. He examines the inside of the mug and sighs. “I’m all out. Do you mind if I pop down the hall for another cup? I’ll only be a moment.”  
  
Gladio waves a hand. “Be my guest. Ain’t got anywhere to be for the next thirty minutes.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Ignis pushes his chair back and strides around his desk, past Gladio, heading for the door. The scent of his cologne trails after him. It’s faint, but it’s enough to tantalize, and Gladio has to close his eyes to stop himself from grabbing Ignis by the back of his suit jacket and yanking him into his lap. Fucking Astrals, his dick’s half hard. He just wants to pull open Ignis’s collar and bury his face in that pale neck, to see if he tastes as good as he smells.  
  
The door clicks shut behind Ignis. Gladio breathes out and slips a hand into his pants, adjusting his boner.  
  
Then he reaches for Ignis’s phone.  
  
He opens the calendar app and starts scrolling through tomorrow’s entries. The amount of appointments Ignis has crammed in it is ridiculous. Some of them even overlap. It’s no wonder he’s so uptight all the damn time.  
  
_Training with Cor. Drive Noct to school. Council meeting. Business lunch with Marcus. Pick up Noct’s dress clothes from dry cleaners._ Aha. He finds what he’s looking for: _Meeting with His Majesty._ It’s the same one Gladio has in his own calendar—they’ve both been invited to give a progress report to the king, an update on how they’re doing with Noct’s education. He taps that one, opening it, and changes the location from the king’s office to the Citadel’s summer audience chambers. He exits the app and sets the phone back on the desk, exactly where Ignis left it, just as the door opens and Ignis steps back in.  
  
“Apologies,” he says, returning to his chair. He sets the piping mug down and looks at Gladio. “Let’s get right to business, shall we?”  
  
Gladio smirks, lacing his hands over his belly again. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  
*

  
“This is unusual,” the king says, glancing at his watch for the fifth time since the meeting started. “Very unusual indeed. I’ve never known Ignis to be late.”  
  
Gladio shrugs, stirring his tea just so he has something to do with his hands. “There’s a first time for everything, Your Majesty.”  
  
“Perhaps, but I do worry…”  
  
The king checks his watch again, while Gladio pictures Ignis standing in the summer audience chambers, his face flushed in frustration. He figured Ignis would’ve texted by now. Maybe he’s too proud to do something like that, though. Maybe he’s already figured out Gladio fucked with his calendar and doesn’t wanna throw himself on Gladio’s mercy.  
  
“Could you send him a message, Gladio?” the king asks.  
  
“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, Your Majesty.”  
  
Gladio pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation with Ignis. _Hey_ , he types. _Where are you? The king’s getting antsy_. He counts ten seconds before a message from Ignis pops up. _Where are we meeting?_ it says. Gladio chuckles to himself and responds, _His office. You losin’ it or something?_ He doesn’t get a response to that, so he puts his phone face-down on the table.  
  
They only have to wait five minutes before the door bursts open and Ignis staggers in, breathing hard, like he’s just finished running a gods-damned marathon. His forehead and upper lip glisten with sweat, and a few damp strands of hair have come unglued from their ‘do, hanging in his face. He’s out of his suit jacket, too. It’s thrown over his arm, and—is Gladio imagining it, or are his armpits sweating right through his dress shirt?  
  
Six, is this what he looks like post-fuck?  
  
Gladio crosses his legs, trying not to think too hard about the stamina it would take to bolt from one end of the Citadel to the other in five minutes flat, either.  
  
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Ignis says. He sets his briefcase down on the floor and sits in the chair next to Gladio, finger-combing his hair back off his forehead. “It seems I had the wrong location in my calendar. I don’t know how it happened…”  
  
Ignis glances at Gladio, and Gladio takes the opportunity to wink, arranging his face into his best shit-eating grin. Ignis holds his gaze for just a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing, before he flicks it away again, all business.  
  
“But I’m sure I’ll get to the bottom of it in no time,” Ignis says coolly, flipping open his notebook and clicking his pen. “Now, let’s not waste any more time—to the matter of Noct’s schooling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Things are starting to escalate. Shoutout to Swordy for being an awesome writing partner! <3
> 
> As usual, kudos and comments are much appreciated.


	5. Ignis

The meeting is unremarkable, aside from the fact that he has to endure it with the uncomfortable sensation of sweat drying on his skin. He's projecting calm indifference, even though inside he's positively _seething_. It hadn't taken him long to work out - once he realised he was in the wrong location - that something wasn't adding up. He wouldn't go as far as saying he doesn't make stupid mistakes, but, well... _he doesn't make stupid mistakes_. Not careless errors like entering the wrong venue in his schedule, at any rate.

He didn't have to spend long feeling disquieted by how he might have made a mistake. One glance at Gladio told him everything he needed to know. And the wink. _Six have mercy_ , the man actually had the _audacity_ to wink at him.

The pen in his hand creaks as he squeezes it tightly, the plastic threatening to break. How and when Gladio did it is the most concerning issue at present. Maybe he needs—

“Ignis?” Regis asks, his expression one of fatherly concern. “Is everything okay? You don't appear to be quite yourself this morning.”

He's looking directly at Regis, yet can feel Gladio’s gaze boring into him. He could obviously tell the king that Gladio tampered with his schedule, but he has no proof and he doesn't want to earn a reputation as someone who goes around making unfounded allegations whenever it seems like he's made a mistake.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” he replies. “I believe I have the makings of a headache.”

“Oh dear. Can I get someone to find you some painkillers?”

“No need,” he answers, raising a hand. “But thank you.” He turns his gaze on Gladio, holding the stare for longer than necessary. “I have my own methods for dealing with troublesome headaches.”

“Well, I believe it's time we concluded the meeting anyway,” Regis says brightly, and if he's aware of any tension, he's pointedly ignoring it. “Thank you for attending, gentlemen. I'm confident that Noctis is in excellent hands.”

They both stand together and bow before filing out of the room. He follows Gladio, glaring at the other man’s back. His pulse quickens at the prospect of confrontation.

“ _You did it,_ ” he hisses, the moment they're out of the room and the door is safely closed behind them. “You altered my schedule so that I'd end up in the wrong location.”

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Oh chill out. You're acting like I fucked up a hot date or somethin’. You do _go_ on dates, don't you?”

Murder is fast becoming a distinct possibility. He breathes in through his nose slowly, unable to remember a time in recent memory when he's come so close to losing his composure. He pushes at his glasses angrily, eyes narrowed behind the lenses.

“My personal life is absolutely none of your business, and I'd appreciate you making the effort to remember that.”

“So that's a no then?” Gladio says brightly, and - _gods help him_ \- the man is still smiling as he digs his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants, completing the picture of nonchalance. He looks away quickly, lest he be distracted by the flex and swell of well-defined biceps.

“Still, I was impressed,” Gladio continues, because it's clear the man has some kind of death wish. “You're pretty fuckin’ fast. Who knew? Maybe there's the body of an athlete under those starched shirts and trousers with creases you could cut yourself on.”

The idea of Gladio contemplating what lies beneath his clothing makes him blush hard, just in case he thought things couldn't get any worse.

“What you did was completely juvenile, Gladio,” he says angrily, hoping that the other man will attribute his flushed skin to that.

“Yeah, well, scheduling our meetings to clash with my free time with my friends was a dick move, _Iggy_.”

 _Iggy??_ For a moment, he's too stunned by the overfamiliar sobriquet to say anything. It's quickly becoming apparent that Gladio occupies some awkward position that he's completely confounded by. Noctis knows ultimately that he has to do as he's told; Regis and his contemporaries will always be the ultimate authority he defers to, but Gladio… Gladio, he can neither boss around, nor is he expected to take orders off. Clearly, Gladio knows it too. The added complication is how Gladio’s physical presence makes him _feel_. Right now, he needs distance, so he can focus solely on working out exactly what he does next to right this morning’s injustice.

“If you'd _told_ me you had prior engagements on those days, I would have tried to find alternatives. After this little stunt, I fail to see why I should accommodate you,” he replies haughtily. “So I guess I'll see you tomorrow at eight a.m., sharp.”

He spins and walks away.

“You know, you're pretty hot when you're angry,” Gladio calls after his retreating form. He pretends he can't hear the amusement in the other man's voice.

“Eight a.m., _sharp_ ,” he repeats curtly before he disappears around the corner.

OoOoO

After returning to his apartment for a quick shower and a fresh set of clothes, he follows his schedule for the rest of the day without incident. His irritation is not so easily washed off, however. Gladio’s face - that _wink_ \- keeps popping into his head and he finds himself preoccupied with schemes of making the other man pay. By evening, he can't take the disruptive thoughts any longer, and he grabs his things and heads down to the gym. He knows, even without looking at Gladio’s schedule, that the other man won't be there - indeed, it's unlikely that anyone will be there this late.

When he arrives, he's relieved to find the gym offices in darkness. This is Gladio’s domain, after all, and the last thing he needs when he's here to work off some frustration is to run into the man himself. In the semi-darkened changing rooms, he strips off his work clothes, folds them carefully and places them on the bench before changing into a t-shirt and shorts. Barefoot, he pads silently into the empty gymnasium, holding a towel, his water bottle and the sheaths containing his daggers. Ordinarily, he'd use the wooden training weapons, but with no one else around, it's an excellent opportunity to practise with the real things.

First, he starts with some stretching, before running some sprints. It's only supposed to be a warm up, but he throws himself into it until he's breathing hard and starting to perspire. He pauses for some water, then moves over to the mats.

When it comes to physical activity, this is where his heart truly lies - being fast and flexible and cunning in his movements. He's never going to have a physique like Gladio's, but he's aware of how to fully utilise what he _does_ have.

He starts in one corner, runs, and performs a couple of handsprings as he crosses the mat at a diagonal. Satisfied he has the necessary focus, he does a return journey, adding a one and a half turn twist before landing squarely. Easy. His goal is to eventually make it to two and a half turns, maybe even three, one day. He continues in this vein, pushing himself to two full turns before stopping for a break.

As he sits on the mat, drinking his water, his mind wanders to the man who regularly occupies this location. He's never sparred with Gladio directly, but he's watched the other man fight enough times, and has studied how he uses his strength to wear down his opponents. Gladio is by no means slow - indeed, his agility catches out many whom believe their own speed will give them a significant advantage over him in combat - but it's the sheer power in his attacking that gives him that edge.

He towels off the sweat and returns to the corner of the mat. This time, he runs, spins and launches into a series of backflips that take him to the far wall in seconds. Barely pausing for breath, he turns and heads back the other way, aerial cartwheeling at a slower pace this time, so that when he reaches the centre, he can execute a perfectly controlled handstand. After holding the position for longer than is comfortable, he slowly lowers first one leg and then the other until he is in a back bend, only possible thanks to his well-honed flexibility.

He moves out of the position with the same controlled grace, returning upright briefly before allowing himself to sink into the front splits. He rests like that for a moment, before bringing his forehead down to his outstretched leg, his hands linking under his foot to pull the stretch even further. Bringing his back leg around, he then performs a series of gentle forward rolls until he comes to rest beside his sheathed weapons.

Glancing around the gymnasium, he locates the item he's searching for. There are a number of training mannequins, but only one that is so far past its prime that they’re allowed to use real weapons on it. He pulls it into the centre of the mats before returning to fetch his daggers.

He removes them lovingly and takes a moment to settle them in his grip. They glint under the gymnasium lights as he studies their ornate handles. With a flick of each wrist, they spin before returning to their original positions.

His gaze then settles on the mannequin, eyes hooded as the world around him narrows to that single assailant. He breathes, steps and then he's running at an oblique angle across the mats before he darts in at the last moment. He executes one quick, neat aerial cartwheel, slashes the mannequin across the midsection with one of his blades, then the neck with the other, before springing away and out of range of the imaginary opponent’s counter attack.

Done, he walks back to inspect the damage. Despite this not being a real fight, the wounds he's inflicted are deep and almost certainly fatal if the mannequin had been a real person instead. It doesn't take a psychologist to tell him that his excessive aggression is fuelled by anger. Gladio's face swims into his mind again - the wink, followed by the smirk - the whole expression designed to irritate and say _I won_. He grits his teeth, an involuntary snarl coming to his lips. As well as the face, he can't help picturing Gladio’s body - the bulge of well-developed muscles against hard planes of flesh.

Circling the mannequin, he readies his daggers once more. Rage at being humiliated in front of Regis floods his system like poison, and it takes all of his willpower to maintain his distance, rather than charging in to inflict frantic and undisciplined violence.

Stalking silently like a cat, he suddenly imagines Gladio beneath him, naked and yielding as he rides him hard. He pictures Gladio's face, flushed and shiny with perspiration, the self-satisfied smirk long gone as he comes undone beneath his own skilled fingertips. His breathing steady, he gives himself a mental count of three before launching his attack.

This time he keeps his distance. He imagines the mannequin making the first move and he practises ducking and weaving, a spellbinding dance of split-second reactions and fast, arcing movements. He backflips away and the instant that his bare feet hit the mat, he throws both daggers, the left leaving his hand a fraction of a second after the right. He completes the assault, dropping into a protective crouch, breathing hard.

When he raises his head, his eyes travel to his daggers, keen to see where they landed. He wonders how much this simmering animosity between Gladio and himself has affected his aim.

One dagger rests in the mannequin’s heart; the other is dead centre of the mannequin’s forehead.

So, _not very much then_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, thank you everyone for all the comments and kudos! It's wonderful to know people are excited to see what will happen next. :)
> 
> I'm LOVING writing this - Nix and I have loosely planned the overall path of the story, but we only see each other's chapters when you guys do, so the reactions and responses from character when the next chapter rolls around are genuine. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for all the love. Please keep reading and telling us your thoughts! <3


	6. Gladio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter sure got away from me. Gladio has a hell of a lot of fun with himself. Please note the updated rating and tags.

Gladio usually goes to the gym at five-thirty, after his duties for the day are done, but a phone call from his dad interrupts his plans.  
  
“I have an hour of reprieve between meetings,” his dad says. “I’d like to take you out for dinner. We have things to discuss.”  
  
_Things to discuss_ never means anything good, but Gladio agrees, because disagreeing is never really an option when Clarus Amicitia has his mind set on something.  
  
They meet at a quiet, cozy bistro around the corner from the Citadel. His dad’s already waiting for him when he arrives, drinking water from a wine glass as he peruses the menu with a stern glare. Gladio drops into the chair across from him, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
“You’re late, Gladiolus,” his dad says without looking up.  
  
“Sorry. I was about to start my workout when you called. Had to change back into my street clothes.”  
  
“That’s hardly an excuse.” His dad closes the menu and lays it on the table, raising his cool blue eyes to meet Gladio’s gaze. “I wanted to talk about tomorrow’s ceremony. It’s a very important moment in a Shield’s life, and it’s imperative that it goes off without a hitch.”  
  
“I know, Dad.”  
  
“This ceremony symbolizes a shift from boyhood to manhood.”  
  
“Dad, I’m twenty-one. I ain’t a kid.”  
  
“You must prove you’re worthy to inherit the duty of protecting your king,” his dad goes on. “This is a station that demands maturity, wisdom, and good judgment from all who hold it.” He pauses as the waitress comes by to fill their water glasses. “Have you memorized the words you’re supposed to say?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m workin’ on it.”  
  
His dad raises an eyebrow at him. “And the sword?”  
  
“It’s in my office at the gym,” Gladio says. “Don’t worry, Dad, I ain’t gonna forget it.”  
  
“For your sake, I hope you don’t,” his dad says. He picks up his menu again, and adds, softly, “I also hope you know I’m proud of you.”  
  
Gladio flushes and swallows a mouthful of water. Praise ain’t something he’s used to. “Thanks.”  
  
His dad smiles, pointing at something on the menu. The moment—if Gladio can even call it that—is over. “Now, I was thinking of ordering this roast bulette in a red wine reduction sauce. What do you think?”

  
*

  
Gladio doesn’t make it to the gym until later that evening.  
  
After parting ways with his dad, Iris calls him, crying, because Jared’s supposed to drive her to piano lessons, but he isn’t home from the market yet. So Gladio has to swing by his family’s manor to pick her up and take her there, then wait until she’s done so he can drive her home again. On the way, she demands they stop for ice cream. She hums and haws over the chocolate and bubble gum flavours for fifteen minutes before Gladio loses his damn patience and buys her a vanilla cone.  
  
By the time he gets back to the Citadel, it’s after eight o’clock.  
  
The halls are quiet and empty, and he expects to have the gym all to himself, but he pauses outside the door when he hears the muffled, rhythmic sound of something thudding on the mats. Cautiously, he looks through the window in the door—and finds Ignis stick-in-the-ass Scientia going head over heels in the most precise sequence of back handsprings he’s ever seen.  
  
Gladio’s mouth goes dry. Ignis is wearing a tight t-shirt and shorts that show off most of his long, lean legs. They show off his tight ass, too, when he straightens up with his back to the door.  
  
Riveted, he watches as Ignis launches himself across the room again, pulling off a few aerial cartwheels before landing on steady feet and raising himself into a handstand. Gladio should probably leave before Ignis catches him gawking, but he can’t look away. This is a whole new side of Ignis he’s seeing—Ignis, who he thought spent his every waking hour slaving over a desk and cleaning up after Noct. Before his eyes, Ignis lowers himself into the splits, bending forward until he can grab his foot with his hands.  
  
Shit. He’s flexible. Gladio feels somethin’ stirring, and it ain’t just admiration.  
  
Ignis rises and turns toward him, and Gladio ducks out of sight, his pulse quickening. He counts out ninety seconds before he dares another peek. Ignis has his back to the door again, but he’s busy shredding up a beat-up old mannequin, his body twisting in mid-air as he dodges an imaginary attacker. As he lands, he throws both his daggers.  
  
One pierces the mannequin in the heart. The other strikes it in the forehead, the steel vibrating with the force of the blow.  
  
Gladio retreats, his footsteps silent on the floorboards. His workout can wait until tomorrow.

  
*

  
As soon as he’s closed and locked his bedroom door, Gladio flops face-first onto his duvet, stifling his half-hard dick against the mattress. This shouldn’t be happening to him. It’s _Ignis_ , for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t matter how flexible he is. Doesn’t matter how graceful. Doesn’t matter how good his ass looked in his little gym shorts. Ignis hates him. Hell, he was probably imagining himself skewering Gladio when he landed the bullseye on that mannequin.  
  
But when Gladio shuts his eyes, all he can think about is Ignis springing across the mats with an acrobat’s grace, the lean muscles in his thighs and shoulders flexing in a sheath of taut skin. Ignis doesn’t look like much when he’s got all his clothes on, but it takes crazy core strength to pull off moves like those. Begrudgingly, Gladio appreciates his athleticism. He’s never seen anyone execute a hands-free cartwheel like it’s nothing, let alone a series of ‘em.  
  
But it ain’t just the athleticism that impresses him. He’s been thinking way too hard about the tight, firm, toned body Ignis has gotta be hiding under that t-shirt he was wearing.    
  
Astrals, and when he sank into those splits like it was nothing…  
  
Groaning lowly, Gladio rolls onto his back and pushes his shirt up, grazing his fingertips over one nipple. Fucking Ignis. It ain’t right that someone so hot can be such a pain in the ass. He trails his fingers down the valley between his pecs, remembering the fury in Ignis’s eyes when they argued in the hallway earlier today. He’s not even sure why he likes pushing Ignis’s buttons so much. Maybe because he can pretend, when Ignis balls his fists and his face flushes red, that Ignis is holding himself back from kissing Gladio rather than slapping him.  
  
When he reaches the laces of his sweatpants, he fingers them for a couple of seconds, biting his lip. He shouldn’t jerk off when he has Ignis on his mind. That’s just askin’ for trouble. Yeah, he’s thought about fucking Ignis, but it’s not so much about desire than that he wants to put Ignis in his place.  
  
Ain’t it?  
  
Gladio shoves his pants and underwear down just enough to get his dick out. Slowly, he runs the calluses on his palm up the underside, flattening it against his belly. He does it a second time, shivering as his body warms with arousal, before he finally lubes himself up with precome and goes to work on his cock in earnest.  
  
Holding Ignis’s sneering face in his mind’s eye, he pleasures himself with lazy, indulgent strokes, milking the head between his thumb and index finger on every upward pass. There’s something nice about feeling his cock harden fully in his own hand. Sure, he’d rather have it harden in someone else’s hand, but here in the privacy of his own bedroom, he's free to think about whatever—or whoever—he wants. The only one who’s gonna judge him is himself.  
  
So he splays his free hand over his chest, idly brushing his pinkie over his nipple, and thinks about Ignis.  
  
He thinks about Ignis naked on his bed, and blindfolded, his wrists cuffed to the headboard. In his fantasy, he pushes Ignis’s legs apart, bending them back until he can see Ignis’s asshole. Gladio lets out a shaky breath, his hips jerking up into his fist, as he pictures himself brushing a thumb over that ring of muscle. Pictures himself leaning down to take the head of Ignis’s cock into his mouth, his tongue tracing the ridge that connects it to the shaft.  
  
Fuck. What would Ignis sound like if Gladio tortured him with teasing flicks of his tongue, holding his orgasm at bay until Ignis was begging for it? What protests would he make if Gladio left him lying there, desperate to come but bound to the headboard, and walked right out the door?  
  
Gladio bites his lip and rolls his hips up into his hand, clenching his ass cheeks, the heat coiling tighter in his belly as he listens to the wet, rhythmic sound of his cock passing in and out his lubed fist. Yeah, the thought of Ignis begging for an orgasm is doing it for Gladio. To be fair, he wouldn’t leave Ignis tied up on his bed forever. He’s not that much of an asshole.  
  
Gladio would come back a few hours later and—  
  
—and what? Suck him off? Hell no. The Ignis in his head wants more than that. The Ignis in his head wants Gladio to fuck him, and Gladio’s more than happy to oblige. “I need you, Gladio,” Ignis would say, and Gladio would put his cock inside him nice and slow, so Ignis could feel every last inch of him, until they were balls to ass with each other.  
  
Gladio chokes back a moan, rubbing his thumb over the slick head of his dick as he jerks himself, over and over, merciless. Thinking about fucking Ignis is one thing.  
  
Actively visualizing his cock sliding into Ignis’s ass is something different.  
  
He shouldn’t do it, but he does anyway, thrusting into his fist as he pictures himself pounding Ignis so hard it shakes the entire bedframe. The Ignis in his imagination looks just like the Ignis he saw in the gym today—sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed with exertion, the muscles in his arms straining, except this time it’s against handcuffs instead of his own body weight. And just like the Ignis at the gym, this one doesn’t say anything. He just grunts as he takes Gladio’s cock, his lips parting.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Gladio breathes, closing his eyes.  
  
Now he pictures them in reverse. Instead of Ignis chained to the headboard, it’s himself, and he’s the one getting fucked nice and deep, Ignis’s sweat slicking them up everywhere they’re pressed together. Warm breath stirs his hair, and next to his ear, Ignis's voice whispers, _I believe you’re mistaken, my lord Amicitia_. You _belong to_ me.  
  
Hot lips descend on his own, and a wet tongue forces his mouth open, and with a choked cry, Gladio’s orgasm seizes his body. Hot come pulses over his hand as he wrings a few more strokes out of himself, shuddering with the aftershocks, every nerve in his body glowing with electric heat. The image of Ignis kissing him flickers like a neon sign on the backs of his eyelids.  
  
He’s still thinking about Ignis as he lies back against the duvet, counting the heartbeats thundering in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for your support, everyone! Swordy and I are having a lot of fun with this. As always, kudos and/or comments are much appreciated.


	7. Ignis

The workout is a good idea. It quiets the anger, and he's exhausted, but in a good, satisfying way. The desire to strike back at Gladio remains though, because a boiling pot reduced to a simmer is still dangerously hot. For several minutes he lies boneless on the mats, staring up at the gymnasium ceiling as his heart rate slows from a gallop to a walk.

Through the high windows he can see the darkening sky. He studies it for a while, then turns his head toward the gymnasium doors. A couple of times during his workout he felt like he was being watched, but every time he looked around there was no one there. When he moves, he becomes uncomfortably aware of the sweat cooling on his body. Suddenly, lying here loses its appeal and he decides it's time to leave.

As he heads out of the gym and down the corridor toward the changing rooms, he finds himself thinking of Gladio again. Almost immediately, his anger starts to rekindle. Presumably, Gladio will view his schedule tinkering as a harmless prank, but the repercussions are the most concerning aspect. The thought of Regis believing him to be unreliable is… inconceivable. Gladio needs to know that he won't tolerate these childish shenanigans, and that if he continues to put his hard-earned reputation in jeopardy then, well… he's playing with fire.

For reasons he'll never be able to fathom, he stops dead outside the gym office, like an idea has sparked inside his brain, even though he doesn't yet know what it is. The door is unlocked - it always is - because Gladio has a careless approach to everything. He glances around and then quickly steps inside. He doesn't turn on any lights because he can see well enough inside as he lays his daggers silently on the desk and starts to look around. He shouldn't be in here - he doesn't even _know_ what he's doing in here - but his pulse is starting to quicken at the thought of exacting some kind of revenge.

His first idea is to mess with a schedule of some sort, the way Gladio did to him - an eye for an eye, if you will. But just as quickly he discounts the idea. From what he's seen of the other man, a simple scheduling snafu would hardly create the same kind of upset in Gladio; indeed, he probably makes worse mistakes himself.

With that idea nixed, he sets about finding an alternative. His eyes land on the row of lockers that run along one wall. Most are closed, but, unsurprisingly, none of them are actually locked. He tuts to himself as he peruses the contents, quietly opening and closing them one by one. When he reaches the one nearest Gladio’s desk, he stops. Inside is a blade, a great sword like the one preferred by Gladio himself, but this particular sword clearly isn't intended for combat, given the level of ornate decoration.

With a quick glance around, he reaches into the locker and pulls out the blade. It's heavy - really heavy - and he allows the tip to rest on the floor as he studies it in closer detail. There are jewels encrusted along the body of the blade and the handle is gilt-edged, culminating in a pommel carved with a skull, the eyes of which are set with two enormous rubies. Surely this should be locked away in the palace vaults, rather than being abandoned here for anyone to steal?

“You really shouldn't leave things out like this, Gladiolus,” he mutters under his breath. “Who knows what might happen to it?”

His heart is thundering in his chest as he leaves the darkened building, gym bag slung over one shoulder and the sword, wrapped in a tarp, under his other arm. He places it carefully into his car and drives off, before he can contemplate whether what he's doing is truly a good idea.

OoOoO

The following morning he wakes, typically a good half hour before his alarm is due to go off. He lies, staring at the ceiling, acknowledging the aches in his body from his enthusiastic workout and contemplates what came after. The wrapped sword is under his bed like the victim of a crime, a corpse awaiting disposal or discovery. He breathes a little faster at the thought of what he's done. The illicit nature of his actions has an unexpected side effect, and he reaches beneath the blankets to find his cock is fully hard.

There's a moment where he hesitates, like he can't bring himself to touch it because he shouldn't, even though it's not like anyone can see him or he has anyone to answer to. His hand moves out to rest on top of the blanket. This is ridiculous. He should get up immediately to begin his morning routine.

Ten seconds letter, the twitching, aching sensation sends his hand diving back under the covers. He tries to picture the usual things that turn him on - the scenarios or the generically handsome faces of actors whom he admires and could imagine himself being intimate with. He groans as he grasps the length, thumb dragging across the head rhythmically. Suddenly, Gladio’s face swims into his imagination, and he almost hesitates again, but he quickly finds his erection is more than happy with this visual as it pulses against his hand - especially when he allows himself to picture Gladio on his knees. He picks up the pace again, imagining Gladio begging to be allowed to touch himself, to be allowed to come, whilst he simply smiles at his plight.

He arches his back, thrusting into his hand, now slicked with pre-come. Having this authority over Gladio, even just in his imagination, is a powerful aphrodisiac. It feels _good_ \- he's angry with the other man, after all, so he doesn't feel guilty that he's conjuring his colleague in this way.

What he's unprepared for is his mind suddenly switching their roles. Now, he finds himself in submission to Gladio, begging for his own release with a desperation that brings colour to his cheeks. The fantasy continues with him kneeling in front of Gladio, as the other man orgasms hard, the result of which covers his face in hot, white semen. He's unable to touch his own swollen erection because Gladio has forbade it. The imagery sends his system into overdrive and he comes in his hand, gasping at the toe-curling release as it sweeps through him in waves.

For several minutes afterward, he lies, sated and yet burning with humiliation at what his own mind has created. This assignation has taken place nowhere but in his mind, and yet it still wields the power to corrupt and unbalance him. How can he face Gladio when he fantasises of such things? _Why_ would he fantasise about Gladio dominating him in this way when he dislikes the other man so much?

He showers and dresses and consumes a quick breakfast. By the time he's leaving his apartment, he's convinced himself that he's going to have this revenge on Gladio, then they'll be even and they can continue to serve Noct without this _ridiculous_ situation hanging between them. They can be polite and respectful toward each other, and he will absolutely _not_ think of Gladio anymore when he is alone in his bed.

His schedule for the day is hectic - a series of meetings with only enough time between them to hurry between the different locations. He only manages quick sandwich the entire day, so when Noct requests that they call at a diner after he’s been collected from his piano lesson that evening, he’s more than happy to agree.

“So how was your day?” he asks as they sit facing each other in one of the booths. He's ordered his usual, an excellent seafood paella, whilst Noct has gone with burger and fries - a meal typically far too beige for his liking.

“Okay,” Noct replies, jabbing at the ice in his soda with a straw. “We had a quiz in history.”

“How did you do?”

“Dunno.” Noct shrugs, evidently unfazed at the prospect of poor grades.

There's a sound from the phone resting beside Noct’s plate, a fanfare he recognises from _Justice Monsters Five_ , signifying that Noct has an incoming text message. Noct glances over at it, frowns, and shakes his head.

“Something the matter?” he asks.

Noct pushes the phone away and returns to his fries.

“Just Gladio; he's at The Blue Bar. He's seriously pissed.”

He freezes, the forkful of fish and rice halfway to his lips. He schools his expression into something neutral before he replies.

“What is he so angry about?”

Waiting for Noct to swallow his mouthful of fries is agonising. He wants to hear all the details, of how Gladio discovered the sword was missing and then presumably had to explain to Cor, or maybe even Regis himself, why it hadn't been locked away. Obviously, he intends to make the sword reappear so that Gladio doesn't get into any _serious_ trouble, but the thought of the marshal’s disapproval and the king’s disappointment is more than satisfying.

“He had this thing today,” Noct says eventually, waving a hand, “like a ceremony?”

“What ceremony?”

“It's like a, um… rite of passage. It's supposed to signify when a shield comes of age or something.”

Even Noct’s horribly vague description is starting to set alarm bells ringing in his mind. He's aware of the ceremony - where the shield-in-waiting receives his official title. A ceremony made all the more significant because of the tradition it holds for the Amicitia line, whose sons have been shields for generations.

“Apparently, the most important part is the symbolic handing over of the sword, from father to son. But it seems that Gladio’s lost the sword.” Noct reaches for his burger and starts dismantling it to check for any concealed greenery. “Normally, that'd be pretty funny, but Gladio’s literally been waiting for this day for _forever_. He’s always telling me that his dad never takes him seriously, so this was his chance to prove that he's not some irresponsible kid. I can't believe he lost the sword.”

Listening, he swallows hard and places his fork on the plate.

“Was it not locked away?” he manages to ask after a moment.

“Nah. It's a fancy looking sword, but none of the stones in it are real, so it's not actually worth anything. The ceremony can't go ahead without it though, so they had to call it off. I saw Clarus with my dad earlier and he was _furious_. He was saying even if the sword turns up tomorrow, he’s going to make Gladio wait at least another twelve months before holding the ceremony again. Gladio’s gonna be gutted - he was in line to be the youngest Amicitia ever to become the shield, but now he won't be.”

Oh gods. He glances down at his meal, the part he's already ingested is suddenly sitting heavy in his stomach. He realises he needs to respond before Noct guesses that something is amiss.

“That’s terrible,” he says.

“Yeah,” Noct agrees. “Gladio was upset enough that he'd let his dad down, I can't imagine how he'll feel when Clarus tells him he's not prepared to do it again for at least another year.”

The _Justice Monsters Five_ tune strikes up again, and his heart lurches in his chest. 

“What is it?” he asks, hoping things are not about to get worse. Noct glances at his phone, but this time bursts out laughing.

“Just Prompto,” Noct replies. “He's always sending me stupid pictures.”

He doesn't say anything, and Noct never returns to the subject of Gladio and the missing sword. Somehow, he manages to conceal his disquiet, dropping Noct at his apartment and running through their schedules for the following day, before announcing that he’s going home to bed.

He's not, though.

There's no _way_ he could sleep, knowing this situation is completely his fault. So he's going to find Gladio instead. He needs to see the other man and confess. He has to explain how didn't know about the sword’s significance, and how he's truly sorry for the trouble he's caused. Hopefully Gladio will agree that it's time to draw a line under this stupid sniping at each other, before it gets any further out of hand.

He starts the engine again and drives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ignis... 
> 
> Over to the lovely Nix. :) Thank you everyone for joining us on this little adventure. It means the world that people are enjoying it! <3


	8. Gladio

Clarus Amicitia really knows how to make a guy feel small.  
  
He stands at the window, his back to Gladio, silent. He hasn’t said a word since summoning Gladio to his office ten minutes ago. That’s what he’s always done when he’s pissed at Gladio and wants him to think real hard about his latest fuckup. Gladio can’t count how many times he sat in this office as a kid, squirming in this chair and wishing his dad would just get it over with and yell at him.  
  
That’s the problem, though. He ain’t a kid now, and it’s been years since he last sat here waiting for his dad to rip him a new asshole. He doesn’t need to think too hard about what he did this time, either. This is a hell of a lot worse than knocking his great-grandma’s vase off a table in a reckless game of indoor tag, or accidentally batting a baseball through the neighbour’s window. This is probably the most disappointed his dad’s ever been in him.  
  
“Dad, I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell happened. The sword was in the office yesterday.”  
  
“You left it in an unsecured location,” his father snaps.  
  
Gladio blows out a frustrated breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Look, I didn’t think anyone would take it, all right? It ain’t worth anything.”  
  
Now, his dad turns to face him, his lip curled in contempt. “The sword is encrusted with jewels, Gladiolus.”  
  
“They’re fake!”  
  
“And who knows that but you and I? They look real enough to the casual observer.” His father starts to pace alongside his bookshelf, his hands clasped behind his back. “The sword, however, is beside the point. You’ve embarrassed yourself—and the house of Amicitia—in front of all the most important families in Lucis.”  
  
“Look, I’ll find it, and then we can do the ceremony next weekend—”  
  
“Next weekend?” His dad pauses to fix him with an incredulous look. “This ceremony is meant to mark the passage from boyhood to manhood. You’ve shown me you’re unprepared to make that transition. There won’t be a ceremony next weekend, Gladiolus. Certainly not for another year, at the very least.”  
  
Something in Gladio’s stomach twists. He’s been waiting for this ceremony for years, and not just because he was set to become the youngest Amicitia ever made Shield. He wanted to make his dad proud. He wanted his dad to look at him and see a worthy successor. But the minute he showed up to the ceremony without the sword, the minute a judgemental hush settled over the hall, he felt like a stupid kid who couldn’t even spell his own name right on a science test.  
  
“Dad, c’mon, it was an accident,” Gladio says.  
  
“Enough,” Clarus says sharply. “I am done talking about this. Find that sword, Gladiolus, and put it somewhere safe. If you’re very lucky, perhaps we can talk about doing the ceremony a year from now. Until then, I expect you to train hard and be humble. Am I clear?”  
  
Gladio grits his teeth, his eyes pricking with angry tears. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Without another word, his father sweeps past him and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him with an awful, echoing finality.

  
*

  
Somehow, he ends up at the Blue Bar, a seedy strip club on the bad side of town. The neon indigo lights that bathe the interior give the place—and all the grizzled industrial workers in it—a weird, flat quality, which makes it perfect for anonymity. Plus, he’s wearing a hoodie with the hood up, so if any other Crownsguard happen to stumble in, they probably won’t recognize him.  
  
Slouching in his chair, he sips at his beer and watches a topless woman strut around a pole in gold platform shoes. She winks at him, then bends over, sinuous, to give him a great view of the g-string riding up her crack. Normally, his dick would be real interested, but the girls ain’t doing much for him tonight. He’s too busy sulking over everything his dad said to him earlier, and feeling like a useless fucking idiot. No matter how many times he goes over the events of the last few days, his mind racing, he can’t figure out who might’ve taken the sword.  
  
Ignis? Nah. The guy hates him, but he’s a stickler for rules and regulations, and he’d probably cut off his own hand before he stooped to stealing. Vitus, the new Crownsguard guy? He’s in the gym early every morning and late most nights, giving him plenty of opportunity, but he probably wouldn’t put his job in jeopardy like that.  
  
That doesn’t leave him with a hell of a lot of culprits. The Crownsguard who use the gym wouldn't touch it, either. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, pushing his hood back, and chugs the rest of his beer. A server with a buzz cut comes by, tray in hand, and gives him another cold bottle in exchange for the folded bill he holds out to her. Smiling, she tucks it into the cup of her bikini top before she moves on to service the table next to him. He pulls his hood back up and tries to focus on the woman twisting herself around the pole, one hand stroking over her own tit. It should be hot, but it still ain’t doing a damn thing for him.  
  
‘Cause when he tries to stop thinking about how bad he fucked up, he starts thinking about Ignis instead. They haven’t spoken since their spat in the hallway after Gladio changed the meeting location in Ignis’s calendar, and it’s making him a little antsy. Shit, every time his phone vibrates with a message, his heart skips a beat because it might be Ignis. But it never is. It’s always Noct or Iris. He can’t count how many times today he’s typed out a passive aggressive text, only to delete it all before sending, just because he wants to initiate a conversation. It’s kind of sad.  
  
He can’t get the guy out of his head. Hell, he jerked off to thoughts of him a second time last night. He lay in bed, his hand in his boxer shorts, and fantasized about Ignis going down on him, those slender fingers stroking his balls.  
  
There’s no question he has a problem. A big damn problem. And it’s not like he can solve it by never seeing Ignis again. He has to work with him, day in and day out, for the rest of his life. He has to look Ignis in the face and pretend he isn’t thinking about bending him over a table and pounding his ass.  
  
What the hell has his life become? Can’t get a sword to a sacred ceremony. Can’t stop thinking about fucking his nemesis.  
  
Astrals.  
  
He throws a couple of bills on the table and gets up, heading for the door. It’s started to rain. Great. And he didn’t think to bring his umbrella from the car, which is parked a couple of blocks away. Tugging his hood closer around his face, he goes outside, squinting against the driving rain, and starts to walk. He’s only made it a block when a pair of headlights passes him on the road, pulls a U-turn, and comes to a stop next to him.  
  
The engine dies, and Ignis gets out from behind the wheel.  
  
“Gladio!” he shouts through the downpour, coming around the car, something long wrapped in a green tarp clutched under his arm. “There you are. I was afraid I’d miss you.”  
  
Gladio looks from the tarp to Ignis’s face. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
“I wanted to apologize.”  
  
He holds his bundle out, and Gladio stares at it. It can’t be…can it?  
  
Gods, it is.  
  
Choking down a surge of rage, he takes the bundle from Ignis and peels the tarp back. The sword lies within, glittering in his hands. And he was so sure Ignis couldn’t have taken it, so sure Ignis was above something like theft. He covers it again and looks at Ignis, right into his eyes, pleading behind his rain-spattered glasses. For the first time in weeks, he isn’t tempted to kiss him.  
  
“Why would you take it?” he asks, his voice impossibly even.  
  
“I don’t know,” Ignis says. “To teach you a lesson, I suppose. To get back at you for making me look a fool in front of the king.” He raises a hand to push his sodden hair off his forehead. “Gladio, this animosity has gone on long enough. Might we call a truce?”  
  
A truce? A _truce_?  
  
A truce is the last fucking thing on his mind. He tucks the sword under his arm, his jaw clenching, and takes a step toward Ignis. As he does it, Ignis takes a half step backward, almost cringing against the side of his car.  
  
“So you decided to make me look like a total asshole in front of my dad and the entire court?” he snaps. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My dad thinks I’m unfit to be a Shield. Unfit to do my goddamn job.”  
  
“I didn’t know,” Ignis says, and it sounds like he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t know what the sword was for, Gladio, I swear it. I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise. I just wanted you to worry over it for a day or two, and then I was going to return it.”  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Gladio demands.  
  
Ignis doesn’t say anything, but even in the pouring rain, Gladio can see the hurt that flashes across his face. Well, good. The asshole deserves it. And there ain’t gonna be a truce.  
  
“This is why no one likes you, Ignis,” he snarls, and turns, and stomps the remaining block and a half to his car.

  
*

  
That night, he barely sleeps. All he can think about is the sword, and his dad’s relieved sigh when he handed it back, and the fact that Ignis just ruined his life, whether or not he realized he was doing it. Growling, he punches his pillow, willing Ignis’s face to go away. Gladio can’t even tell anymore if he wants to throttle him or wrestle him into bed. So he lies awake thinking about it, and when he does finally manage a doze, Iris’s alarm blaring in the next room wakes him just after dawn.  
  
For the first time in a long time, he stops at the cafe around the corner from the Citadel to get himself a cup of coffee before heading in to work. The blonde standing in front of him in line does a double take when she sees him, but her expression just as quickly softens into a smile.  
  
“Hi,” she says.  
  
“Hey,” he answers, giving her a lopsided grin.  
  
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she says, her eyes lingering on his chest and biceps. He’s used to people looking at him like that, but he ain’t really in the mood to deal with flirting right now. “Where do you work?”  
  
“In the government,” he says vaguely. “I don’t really drink coffee, but I’m gonna need it today.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”  
  
“Got some bad news yesterday and didn’t sleep much,” he says.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the last person he wanted to run into today: Ignis, a paper cup in hand and a newspaper under one arm, coming toward them with thunder on his face. Fuck. What now?  
  
He pauses next to them, glancing disdainfully at the blonde chick before turning his sneer on Gladio.  
  
“Good morning,” he says in a cold, clipped tone. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just wanted to thank you for the genital warts you passed on to me, Gladio. I’m seeing my doctor for treatment, and perhaps you should as well.” He smiles at the blonde, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Have a nice day, now.”  
  
And he walks off, leaving Gladio stunned in his wake. He opens his mouth to say something, to reassure this woman that he _definitely_ didn’t give Ignis herpes, but she’s already stepping away and turning her back on him, grimacing. Not that it matters. He wasn’t interested in taking things beyond this coffee shop.  
  
He just can’t believe Ignis would say something like that.  
  
Obviously, he’s still pissed about what Gladio said last night.  
  
Lost in thought, Gladio pays for his coffee and walks around the corner to the Citadel. But he ain’t thinking about how much of an ass Ignis is for butting into his conversation, or trying to make Gladio look slimy in front of someone who was flirting with him. Oh, no. He’s too busy wondering if Ignis is thinking about sleeping with him. Why the hell would he bring up herpes, of all things, if he wasn’t?  
  
Despite himself, his dick twitches. Maybe Ignis doesn’t hate him as much as Gladio thought. Or maybe he does, and he’s just as confused about it as Gladio.  
  
Or maybe he’s reading too much into things.  
  
That last one is a distinct possibility. And that’s why Gladio resolves not to say anything about it.  
  
At least not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to your asses, people. The shit's about to hit the fan. Passing this on to Swordy to get the ball rolling...


	9. Ignis

Many years from now, when he'll look back on the proudest moments in his life, the last few days will _definitely_ not feature. From taking the sword - _why, oh why, did he take the sword_ \- to everything that came after, he's pretty certain that even if he makes it to one hundred years old, his toes will still curl at the recollection of these events.

As soon as Noct told him about the sword, he knew he needed to find Gladio. He'd prepared himself for physical retribution, but it hadn't come. And yet the alternative had somehow been worse. To see Gladio’s eyes, burning with anger and… something else. Hatred would be the most understandable reaction to what he'd done, and yet Gladio didn't look at him like he _hated_ him. The look was more... confusion, _devastation_ even, like of all the people who could have taken the sword, Gladio had never expected it to be him, because he thought he was better than that.

And then Gladio had stepped toward him and he'd been sure he was about to be struck. After the disappointment on Gladio’s face, he'd almost welcomed the violence, like it would go some way toward righting the grievous wrong he'd done. If anything though, Gladio simply looked offended that he'd thought that was going to happen. The words that had left Gladio’s lips next were infinitely more wounding.

_This is why no one likes you, Ignis._

He broods about this as he drives home. He's never assumed himself to be popular amongst his peers, but he’s hard-working and fair and always offers help when it’s asked of him. As a student, he tutored those who were struggling in class, and in the gym supported others who wanted to do extra physical training, even though many times it meant him doing his own work late into the night. His duties to Noct keep him from enjoying the same kind of social life as Gladio, but he’s always made the effort to go out when invited, even when the location or activity is not to his tastes. He tells himself he shouldn't care if people don't like him, but believing it is another matter entirely, because there's no reason for people to feel that way about him.

Or at least there wasn't.

Whatever Gladio’s feelings are toward him, he has to do the right thing and confess. It was a foolish thing to do - an act that he'd never anticipated would have such far-reaching consequences. He'd wanted to give Gladio a day or so’s worry and a possible reprimand from Cor or Clarus for his carelessness, but not _this_. For all Gladio’s faults, he's dedicated to his role, and he doesn't deserve to have that jeopardised.

He has to make things right.

OoOoO

Once he arrives back at the citadel, he sits in his car for a few moments, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. His appearance must be frightful. From the glovebox he finds a comb and smooths it over his hair. His clothes are soaking. Maybe he should go home and change first. He knows he's stalling though, so instead he throws open the car door and makes a dash for the palace.

The hallways are quiet, unsurprising given the hour. He heads for the administration chambers - even this late there's a good chance that he'll find either Regis or Clarus behind their desks, burning the midnight oil. Whoever he encounters will be hugely disappointed with him, so he's no particular preference as to which one he has to confess his crimes to. He tries not to dwell on what his potential punishment could be.

The reality is both of their offices are locked up and in darkness. He glances at his watch. It's too late to disturb Regis in his quarters, and Clarus will be back at the Amicitia mansion, where he'd be in danger of running into Gladio again. It'll have to wait until morning, unless….

He changes direction and heads down a different corridor until he reaches the room he wants. The door is closed, but light is spilling from under it. He knocks and receives a sharp, “Come in.”

The marshal looks up as he enters, his expression its usual level of unreadability. He's paused from where he's writing in a heavy-looking ledger, his office lit by the single anglepoise lamp on his desk. Behind him, the city lights twinkle in the distance.

“Sorry to disturb you, Marshal,” he says. “I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment?”

Cor frowns slightly as he lays down his pen. He gestures to the empty chair across from him.

“Are you okay, Ignis?”

Cor is undoubtedly eyeing his wet, somewhat disheveled appearance, and he feels self-conscious beneath the marshal’s scrutiny. He takes off his coat and places it over the arm of the chair, before lowering himself into the seat.

“Yes, Sir, I am.”

“Do you want a drink?” Cor asks, gesturing to the crystal decanter on his desk. His own glass contains a small measure of whatever it is.

“No thank you, Sir.”

“So what is it you want to talk to me about?” Cor says. His tone isn't unfriendly, but nor is it concerned or inviting either. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking as he shifts his weight.

“Something regrettable happened today for which I am solely responsible,” he begins, fingers laced in his lap. He studies them for a moment, before he lifts his head to meet Cor’s steely gaze. Then he plunges into the whole sorry saga of Gladiolus, himself and the ceremonial sword.

OoOoO

Cor never interrupts him once. The marshal listens, glass in hand, as he explains about Gladio tampering with his schedule and his spur of the moment reaction. His cheeks burn with shame because talking about it like this holds a mirror up that reflects precisely how childish it was. Beyond this there's not much more to say, because Cor is well aware of the consequences of what he did. When he stops speaking, Cor swirls the contents of his tumbler, drinks it and sets the glass down on his desk with a sigh.

“Ignis… I know you don't need me to tell you that what you did is inexcusable.” Cor rubs his eyes wearily. “I appreciate you didn't mean to cause any serious harm, and you attempting to make amends the moment you realised mitigates the damage a little.”

“I know, Sir, and I'm truly appalled by my actions. I need to speak to Clarus; see if I can persuade him not to punish Gladio. Then I will gladly take whatever punishment His Majesty deems fit.”

Cor is nodding, but then he says, “I appreciate what you're saying, but I want you leave it with me, okay? Let me speak to Regis and Clarus first.”

He studies the marshal, but as usual it's impossible to figure out what he's thinking. He's not exactly in any position to argue though, so he simply nods.

“Very well, Marshal.”

“Come back here tomorrow at seven, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

OoOoO

Since he became Noct’s chamberlain, he's functioned perfectly well on reduced levels of sleep. When exams loomed, he pulled all nighters, fuelled by unhealthy quantities of coffee. Somehow though, sleeplessness caused by stress is infinitely more exhausting and when he gives up on trying to sleep somewhere around four a.m., he knows the day is going to be a long one. Throughout the night, he checked his phone almost obsessively. Cor will only be speaking to Regis and Clarus later, so he wasn't expecting anything from the marshal, leaving Gladio as the only person whose message he'd want to read the moment it arrived. Nothing came through though.

Inevitably, thinking of Gladio had caused him to reflect on the frequency that the other man features in his fantasies. With sleep eluding him, he'd almost fallen back on those imagined scenarios to address his unwanted erection, but had closed down those thoughts almost instantly. Gladio’s normally handsome face is polluted by the sneer that accompanies the words, _this is why no one likes you, Ignis._

With little else to do but think, his mind imagines a myriad scenarios - Gladio drinking with his Crownsguard friends, laughing conspiratorially as they take turns to tease Gladio for having to put up with him; classmates he tutored being grateful to his face, but mocking him behind his back; invitations to events given whilst secretly hoping that he won't come.

It opens wounds he thought long forgotten, memories of a childhood always cast in the role of an outsider; of a life filled with high expectations from the moment he left his mother’s womb. Maybe even before, the die cast already by virtue of being the product of two of Tenebrae’s most brilliant minds. Ignis, the little boy never invited to play by the other children because he didn't know _how_ to play. Even when he'd begged to learn the rules of those important games so he could join in, he was still never asked, simply because his peers felt him incapable of having fun. Logically, he should be past all this, but the truth is he really, really isn't.

In the end, he gives up and gets out of bed as dawn is appearing on the horizon. He has no issue with being an early riser, but usually it comes on the back of a satisfactory number of hours’ sleep. Even showered and dressed in fresh clothes, the reflection that greets him in the mirror is bordering on unacceptable. Coffee is naturally the answer. He's already had one cup at the point where he’s leaving for his duties, but by the time he's nearing the citadel, he's definitely ready for another. There's a small coffee shop nearby so he heads there. He's got another hour before his first meeting, so he decides to get a drink and sit with the morning paper, see if he can clear his head a little so he has the necessary focus for the day ahead.

It's a popular establishment and it takes over five minutes to be served. He gets his coffee to takeaway because the place is busy, but just as he's contemplating heading straight to the citadel to find a quiet spot there, a table in the corner comes free. He settles into the newly vacated chair and closes his eyes, taking a moment to inhale the cinnamon aroma of his chosen brew. When he opens them, he rights his newspaper and prepares to start reading.

He's not so engrossed in the leading story that he doesn't notice the door opening and a familiar body stepping across the threshold and heading to the counter. Any thoughts of relaxation flee as he studies Gladio’s broad shoulders and neat, perfectly-sculpted rear. When the woman ahead of him in line turns to say something, he smiles, flashing a grin that brings dimples to his cheeks. Really… Gladio has absolutely no business looking so good.

He checks himself then, remembering the angry words of last night. Gladio hates him. But whereas the exchange cut him deep, Gladio is clearly none the worse for it. Indeed, he doesn't look as if he's lost a moment’s sleep over it, because he's here, honest-to-gods _flirting_ with the attractive girl in the queue.

His irritation rises with every passing second. He watches the exchange, the smiles, the eye contact, annoyance curdling into something stronger. He swore he wasn't going to strike back at Gladio, given he's still the one who has landed the most grievous blow, but indignation and probably a healthy dose of sleeplessness blots out all common sense. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Gladio _had_ seen him, and is flirting in this manner to prove a point about their very differing levels of popularity. He folds up his paper, grabs his coffee and stands.

OoOoO

Less than two minutes later, he's standing around the corner from the coffee shop still clutching both items and wondering if it's possible to identify the _exact_ moment when he took leave of his senses.

“What in the hell am I _doing_?” he says, sotto voce, scarcely able to believe he’s just gone and spoken to Gladio, when he could have remained hidden in the corner, unnoticed. And - _oh gods_ \- what in the name of Bahamut possessed him to say _that_? He covers his eyes and lets out a long, wearied breath.

“I'm losing my mind,” he says in answer to his own question. Frankly, it's the only reasonable explanation.

He gives himself a couple of minutes, visualising himself pushing this hideous situation behind a large steel door and closing it firmly. Techniques such as this have worked well for him in the past, but now, every time he thinks he's got his stresses locked behind that impenetrable barrier so he can go about his day with the utmost professionalism, his mind utters the words ‘ _genital warts_ ’ and everything else comes spilling back out along with it.

He takes a circuitous route to the citadel to avoid running into Gladio again. When he arrives at the council chambers, he discovers all of the attendees of his first meeting are already here, so someone suggests they get started early and he agrees with alacrity, since he's more than happy for the distraction.

OoOoO

He survives the day. Energy-wise he's fit to drop, so he's utterly thrilled to receive a text from Noct saying he's going to Prompto's for the evening and he doesn't need any dinner cooking, which means he can go straight home. First, there's just the matter of the meeting with Cor. He wonders how the marshal has fared speaking to Clarus or Regis and whether he's about to discover his fate. Despite being in the citadel all day, he’s not seen any of the players in this sorry saga, which is something of a relief given how well he handled seeing Gladio this morning.

He reaches Cor’s office and knocks once. In a repeat of the previous evening, the same voice invites him in and he enters and takes the empty chair Cor gestures to. Evidently Cor senses that he's eager to get started, because he says, “We’re just waiting for one other person.”

He nods, folding his hands in his lap, his back ramrod straight in the chair. They only have to wait another couple of minutes before there's another knock and Cor calls out, “come in”, again.

He's already decided it's going to be Clarus Amicitia, but the only thing he's right about is the family name. When Gladio drops into the chair beside him, he doesn't look over, nor does the other man look at him. Behind his desk, Cor straightens and fixes them both with a look that could melt concrete.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen. You obviously know why you're both here, so let's get straight to business.”

Cor then turns his attention to Gladio, who simultaneously seems to be filling the seat and shrinking into it at the same time. Under any other circumstances, it would be amusing to see the normally overflowing-with-confidence Gladio reduced in this way. Cor smiles, but the expression is more dangerous than encouraging.

“Gladiolus. Would you care to summarise the situation for me?”

To his credit, Gladio recovers quickly, bristling with righteousness indignation, and shooting a glare in the appropriate direction. He continues to give Gladio the side view of his head though, partly so Gladio doesn't get the satisfaction of landing the daggers he's throwing his way, and partly because he's thinking _why the hell did I say genital warts?_ and trying not to blush.

“Happy to, Sir. Basically, Ignis here took the ceremonial sword from _my_ locker in _my_ office so that I couldn't officially become Noct’s shield-”

“I _told_ you I was unaware of the sword’s significance!” he interjects hotly. “Do you think for a minute I would actually do something so contemptible-”

“I dunno, Ignis, why don't you tell me, huh? You seem to know everythin’ else-”

“Gladio, I-”

“ _Boys!_ ” Cor bellows, fist hitting his desk with a loud thump, causing everything on it to jump. The marshal’s expression hasn't changed dramatically, but he's obviously furious with them both. The fact that they've gone from ‘gentlemen’ to ‘boys’ in the space of minutes is testament to that.

“Have you _heard_ yourselves?” Cor continues. “You're acting like goddamned children! Honestly, I expected better of both of you.”

Cor’s right, obviously. He chances a glance at Gladio who looks similarly contrite, head bowed and fingers clasped in front of him.

“I've spoken to both Regis and Clarus and explained that what happened with the sword was a misunderstanding,” Cor continues. “I told them that you took the sword, Ignis, because you were concerned that it was valuable, and although you'd left a message to let Gladio know you had it, the message hadn't been received, so Gladio thought it had been stolen.”

“It _had_ been stolen!” Gladio exclaims.

Cor silences him with a look.

“Had I mentioned that, the next question would naturally have been ‘what made Ignis act so out of character?’ At that point I would have had to explain about you tampering with Ignis’s schedule so that he almost missed a meeting with the king. Unless, of course, you're telling me that _didn't_ happen?”

Gladio ducks his head. His ears flush, which is absolutely, definitely _not_  completely charming. He mumbles something, which Cor asks him to repeat.

“I said, it still doesn't change the fact that I now won't make shield for another year.”

“And as _I_ said, I spoke to your father as well as Regis. He's not prepared to relent completely - after all, you _did_ leave the sword in an unsecured location, Gladio, but he's said he will consider permitting the ceremony in six months’ time, providing you prove you've matured in that time. You could still make the youngest ever shield.”

This is a considerable relief. He glances at Gladio again and it's apparent he feels the same.

“Pardon me, Marshal, but why would you do this for us?”

Cor sighs and rubs his eyes, like the whole thing is giving him an almighty headache.

“Because both of you are better than this, and I didn't want this stupid feud to jeopardise your positions in relation to Noct. You're good for him,” Cor says, his gaze flicking between them both. “Who knows, maybe if you stopped with all the goddamned animosity, you could be good for each other, too.”

The silence hangs between them. He looks over at Gladio and their eyes meet - there's a wariness in Gladio's expression mixed with apparent resignation.

“Try and actually get to know each other,” Cor instructs, waving a hand at them both, before he reaches for the decanter on his desk. “Go get a beer together or something; just… get the hell out of my office.”

They leave hurriedly, repeating their thanks to the marshal as they go. In silence, they walk side by side out of the citadel, stopping at the palace gates where the lack of conversation becomes thick with tension. He's about to apologise again for taking the sword, when Gladio lets out a long sigh and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“D’you wanna go and get that drink? I definitely need a beer.”

In truth he's exhausted, and more than ready to head home, but he knows Gladio will be expecting him to refuse, and he's not about to give the other man the satisfaction of second-guessing him correctly.

“I believe, I also could do with a drink,” he agrees.

Gladio studies him for a moment and then nods. Then together, they set off walking into the city to find a suitable drinking establishment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeee, things are hotting up! Thanks as always to Nix for being an awesome writing partner and to everyone who leaves comments and kudos for us. It really does mean the world. <3


	10. Gladio

They walk side by side to a cocktail bar—cheekily named The Cockatrice—two blocks away from the Citadel. It ain’t the first place Gladio would’ve chosen to have a drink with Ignis. He’s picturing dainty chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, bubblegum pink sofas, and bachelorette parties giggling over glasses of Sex on the Beach. But Ignis said it’s quiet on weeknights. Perfect for talking.  
  
Great.  
  
They don’t say a word to each other on the way there. Gladio keeps his hands jammed in his pockets, his fingers anxiously playing with a spare button he finds in there. He allows himself the occasional glance at Ignis. Ignis never meets his eyes, though. He keeps his gaze trained on the pavement, pushing his glasses up his nose every now and then. Gladio might as well be a homeless guy begging him for change, for all Ignis is trying to pretend he doesn’t exist.  
  
When they arrive, the place isn’t pink. It’s a goddamn dive. The only other patrons are a woman in cutoff jeans chatting with the bartender over a shot of whiskey and a man with a massive, unkempt beard nursing a cider in a corner booth. It smells like mothballs and industrial-strength cleaner with a whiff of sour vomit. The lightbulb in the sconce next to the door keeps flickering, like it’s getting ready for the day this dump closes down for good.  
  
Ignis leads him over to a booth at the back, shrugging out of his jacket. Gladio drops down on the bench across from him, placing his palms on the sticky table.  
  
“You come here often?” Gladio asks, raising his voice to be heard over the generic rock tune droning from the speakers.  
  
“Hardly.” Ignis unfolds the drink menu and spreads it across the tabletop, pursing his lips as he scans the list of cocktails. “When Noct turned eighteen, he dragged me along on a tour of all the bars within a five-mile radius of the Citadel.”  
  
Gladio raises an eyebrow. “And you figured this was the best place to bring me?”  
  
“Well, I did find you outside the Blue Bar last night.” Ignis looks up at him, unsmiling. “I gathered seedy establishments were more to your taste.”  
  
_Asshole._  
  
Smile rigid on his face, Gladio picks the first thing he sees on the menu—a growler of Coeurl’s Tail—and tells the waitress when she swings by their table. Ignis orders a martini, and then they sit there glaring at each other in silence. So much for getting to know one another. They’ll be lucky if they make it through the night without getting into a fistfight, much less carry on a civil conversation. Hell, Cor may as well have asked them to bring him the moon.  
  
“Tell me something about yourself,” Gladio finally says.  
  
Ignis folds the menu and sticks it back in its holder, refusing to meet Gladio’s eyes. “What would you like to know?”  
  
“Dunno. Something interesting.”  
  
“I somehow doubt what I consider interesting will resonate with you,” Ignis says coolly.  
  
Gladio smirks, draping his arms over the back of his seat. If Ignis wants to be a brat, he can play along. “You seemed pretty fixated on genital warts the other day. Wanna tell me what that was all about?”  
  
“I don’t—” Ignis flushes to the tips of his ears. The waitress comes by with their drinks, and he combs his hair back from his temples, taking a sip from his martini before he speaks again. “I was upset because of what you said the night before. I wanted to ruin your date. That’s all.”  
  
Gladio laughs incredulously. “You thought I was on a date? It was eight in the damn morning.”  
  
“Well, you do get around, don’t you?”  
  
Fucking Six. Gladio brings his beer bottle to his lips and starts to chug, just so he doesn’t have to respond to that. Leave it to Ignis to act like he’s some kind of slut. Sure, he gets some tail now and then. It’s hard not to when women practically throw themselves at him. He’s no stranger to strip clubs, either. When he’s feeling lonely on a Friday night and can’t come up with something better to do, he hits the titty bars. But he doesn’t spend his every waking hour chasing skirts, or even thinking about it. He ain’t a libertine.  
  
Ignis is still looking at him, one eyebrow raised, as Gladio lets out a satisfied belch and sets his bottle down on the table.  
  
“What the fuck does it matter to you?” he asks.  
  
Ignis shrugs. “It doesn’t.”  
  
“You couldn’t think of anything better than genital warts?”  
  
“It was the fastest way to ruin your morning.” Ignis’s eyes narrow behind his specs. “At least I didn’t go after your sense of self-worth. That was low, even for you.”  
  
“Even for me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
  
Ignis fingers the stem of his martini glass. “You’re a bully, Gladio. You think me weak, so you attack where you anticipate it will wound me most.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
“You said no one likes me. It was a calculated barb.”  
  
That’s not exactly true. Gladio was so pissed about the ceremony being called off—and finding out it was all because of Ignis—that he said it without thinking. It wasn’t like he got some perverse pleasure out of hurting Ignis’s feelings. Hell, he didn’t even wait around to see how Ignis would take it.  
  
“Well, someone somewhere’s gotta like you, right?” he says. He thinks back to that strange name he saw in Ignis’s phone a few weeks ago—the only active conversation in his messages besides Noct. “Like…Eirene, maybe?”  
  
Ignis frowns, opening his mouth to respond, but his phone starts to vibrate on the table, the screen lighting up with a photo of Noct’s face. Sighing, Ignis answers.  
  
“Yes, Noct?” he says. He listens for a moment, his frown deepening. “What do you mean, you forgot? You’ve known about this assignment for three months.” On the other end of the phone, Gladio can hear Noct’s voice, raised and indignant, but it’s too quiet to make out the words. “Do you understand what will happen if you don’t submit that paper, Noct? It’s worth forty percent of your final grade. You’ll fail the class, and you won’t be able to graduate.” He listens again. “Well, I hardly see what Prompto has to do with this.”  
  
Gladio swallows the rest of his beer, watching as Ignis closes his eyes, brings two fingertips to his temple, and starts to rubs in small circles.  
  
“Oh, is that what you think?” Ignis says. “I’m supposed to meet with your father tomorrow morning to give him a report on your studies. I don’t imagine he’ll take kindly to this news.” Ignis pauses mid-massage and shakes his head ever so slightly. “You want me to do what?”  
  
Gladio tries not to smirk. Generally, he takes the kid gloves off when he deals with Noct, because the little prince gets away with too much as it is. Ignis, though? He’s like a helicopter parent. Watching him cling to the last shreds of his patience is more entertaining than any televised championship sport.  
  
Ignis rolls his eyes and digs in his pocket until he pulls out a leather wallet. He flips it open and extracts a few bills, tossing them on the table. Then he drains the last of his martini and places his fingers over the phone’s speaker, moving it away from his mouth.  
  
“I need you to do me a favour,” he murmurs to Gladio. “Will you come back to my apartment with me? It won’t take but a few minutes.”  
  
Gladio shrugs. “Sure. Whatever.”  
  
He throws a few gil on the table, too, and then they leave the bar together. Ignis is still on the phone with Noct, his jacket draped over one arm. Gladio isn’t exactly sure what they’re talking about, but he has a good idea. Noct’s fucked something up again, and now he expects Ignis to clean up his mess. He’s never witnessed it personally, but Noct is always making off-hand comments about all the shit Ignis does for him. Gladio never thought about it much until now—how much Ignis sacrifices for their prince, even at the expense of his own well-being.  
  
Maybe this is why Ignis always looks so worn out.  
  
Gladio jams his hands in his pockets and keeps a few steps behind Ignis, watching the cool evening breeze ruffle his hair. It looks so soft. He wants to run his fingers through it.  
  
“I’ll do it for you,” Ignis is saying, “but we’re going to sit down and discuss why you can’t allow these things to keep happening. I have duties beyond serving you. How do you think it’s going to look when Gladio shows up at your father’s office with a report I was supposed to deliver to him?”  
  
Oh. So that’s what Ignis wants. Gladio has half a mind to just leave and let Ignis deal with the fallout, but maybe he owes the guy after what he said outside the Blue Bar. Maybe this animosity really has gone on long enough.  
  
“Yes, Noct,” Ignis says impatiently, digging in his pocket as he stops outside an apartment building three blocks down the street from the Cockatrice. There’s a jangle as he finds his keys and slots one of them into the lock. “I will go to the library first thing tomorrow and get the book you need. I will write your report. But I need you to meet me outside the school gates at noon sharp so I can give it to you. Am I clear?” He pushes open the door and steps inside. Gladio follows. “Very well. Thank you, Noct. You’re welcome. You have a good night, too.”  
  
Sighing, he hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket. Gladio presses the call button for the elevator.  
  
“Lemme guess, you need me to help you bail Noct out,” he says.  
  
“I’m afraid so,” Ignis says. “I’m supposed to meet with His Majesty at eight tomorrow morning to go over Noct’s progress on his foreign affairs training. I won’t be able to make it after all, but might you bring him the report I wrote about it?”  
  
“I guess,” Gladio says.  
  
Ignis’s lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile. “Thank you.”  
  
The elevator arrives, and they silently ride it up to the eighth floor. Ignis leads him to the end of the hall and lets them both into a small studio apartment, flicking on the kitchen light as soon as they’re inside. The place reeks of bleach and citrusy solvent. It smells too clean, like the scene of a murder after the perp has scrubbed all the evidence away.  
  
As Ignis tosses his keys on the kitchen counter and shrugs out of his jacket, Gladio glances around. The small living space is furnished with nothing but a leather couch, a coffee table, and a couple of bookshelves, both of which look like they’re buckling under the weight of dozens of hardback tomes. There are two doors in the darkened hallway just off the entrance—the bathroom and Ignis’s bedroom, most likely. The only sign that anything actually lives here is a potted leafy plant by the balcony door.  
  
Shit. It’s kinda depressing. There should be dog-eared paperbacks and a half-empty coffee mug on the table. Pictures on the walls. Maybe a sweater draped carelessly over the arm of the couch. But there’s none of that. Ignis must spend so much time working that he only comes home to grab a few hours of sleep.  
  
Shoving his hands in his pockets again, he watches as Ignis goes to the bookshelf and starts to sort through a pile of folders. After a moment, he pulls one out and flips through it before he brings it over to Gladio.  
  
“This needs to be in His Majesty’s hands by eight tomorrow morning,” Ignis instructs. “He’ll be waiting for you in his office. I’ll change the details in our shared calendar so he knows you’ll be delivering it instead of me.”  
  
Gladio accepts the folder, frowning as he takes in the shadows under Ignis’s eyes and the pallor of his skin. The guy just never fucking stops. “Yeah. No problem. But I shouldn’t even have to do this, you know.”  
  
Ignis folds his arms over his chest and glares. “My apologies for inconveniencing you. It won’t take but a few minutes of your time.”  
  
“I ain’t the one being inconvenienced,” Gladio says. “You shouldn’t have to do Noct’s schoolwork for him. You have enough shit going on as it is.”  
  
“What do you suggest I do? Let him fail?”  
  
“Hell yeah,” Gladio shoots back. “You think bailing out his lazy ass is gonna teach him anything useful?”  
  
“He’s just a boy.”  
  
“He’s almost nineteen. Practically a man. You can’t keep picking up his slack like this.”  
  
“Thank you for your input,” Ignis says coldly. “You may leave now.”  
  
Gladio sets the folder down on the counter. “I ain’t done yet. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You look like hell.”  
  
Ignis glares harder. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my appearance.”  
  
“You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave if you’re not careful. How many hours do you work every week? A hundred? And for what?”  
  
“Do you really expect me to believe you’re concerned about my well-being, Gladio?” They’re practically toe to toe now, so close that Gladio can see the freckles on Ignis’s cheek and chin, the subdued anger simmering in his green eyes. “You’ve done nothing but hector me these past few weeks. You don’t care about me, so what is this all about?”  
  
“You think I don’t care? We work together. I need you to be on top of your game.”  
  
“I am ‘on top of my game.’ Every day, which is more than I can say for you.”  
  
Gladio flushes with rage. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”  
  
“At times, yes,” Ignis snaps, his gaze flitting to Gladio’s lips before looking back into his eyes, “but you’re the one telling me how to do my job, so you’re in no position to complain, are you? You just—”  
  
Infuriated, Gladio grabs Ignis by the lapels of his suit jacket and yanks him in, crushing their mouths together. He expects Ignis to shove him away and wipe his lips on his sleeve, to tell Gladio to fuck off, only way more polite. That's what Ignis is supposed to say. What he always thought Ignis _would_ say if Gladio lost his damn mind and acted on all the nasty shit he’s been dreaming about doing to him.  
  
Except Ignis doesn't. Ignis moans and grabs a fistful of Gladio's hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, his mouth opening to Gladio. Gladio can’t help the desperate sound he makes when their tongues meet. The inside of Ignis’s mouth is soft and hot, his breath bittersweet with gin and olives. But the way he kisses sure isn’t sweet. He kisses like he’s trying to prove a point, like he can force Gladio to his knees.  
  
Hell, he probably can. It’s not like Gladio’s never thought about sucking his cock before.  
  
When they break apart, Gladio says, "I don't like you."  
  
Ignis scowls, his glasses askew on the bridge of his nose. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”  
  
They stare at each other for a handful of seconds, panting, until their mouths collide again, more teeth than lips. Ignis slides his hands under the back of Gladio’s tank top, hot palms mapping the muscles of his back. The touch of his skin sends a happy message straight to Gladio’s dick. This is probably the worst thing they could be doing together, but he’s fantasized so much about kissing Ignis, about fucking him, that he’s not sure he can stop himself now that it’s happening.  
  
Nimble hands push his tank top up, and Gladio lifts his arms so Ignis can pull it off. Fingertips graze over his nipples, pinching and tugging sharply before they skim the sensitive skin of his belly, down, down, until they find the cock straining in his jeans. Gladio lets out a shaky breath into Ignis’s mouth as those fingers start to stroke him through the denim.  
  
“Well, isn’t this shocking?” Ignis murmurs. He presses the heel of his palm flat against the head of Gladio’s cock, and that sudden, delicious pressure makes Gladio close his eyes, letting out a grunt. “Are you certain you detest me quite as much as you say you do?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Gladio growls.  
  
He shoves Ignis in the chest, toward the hallway that leads to his bedroom. Ignis staggers, catching himself on the wall, but it’s not enough to wipe that smirk off his mouth. Gladio doesn’t get it. At all. This isn’t the Ignis he thought he knew. He figured Ignis would slap him in the face and demand he leave. He didn’t expect Ignis to look at him with those taunting eyes, like he’s daring Gladio to fuck him to within an inch of his life. Like he _wants_ Gladio to rough him up a bit before giving him a good dicking.  
  
Well, Gladio’s not about to back down from a challenge.  
  
Gladio stalks toward him, and Ignis lets himself be herded. They’re kissing again before they reach the door, Gladio grabbing fistfuls of Ignis’s suit jacket, Ignis raking his nails down Gladio’s bare back. It stings. It’s gonna leave marks. But it just makes Gladio’s dick go stiffer.  
  
Maybe Ignis ain’t the only one who wants to get roughed up here.  
  
Another shove, and Ignis bounces once on the mattress, spreading his legs so Gladio can kneel between them. Ignis’s lips part under Gladio’s kiss, and he groans as Gladio rips his shirt open. A couple of buttons pop off. He expects Ignis to scold him, but Ignis doesn’t, only digs his fingers into Gladio’s hair again, so Gladio moves on to unzip his fly. Before he can think twice about what the fuck he’s doing, he pulls Ignis’s pants down to his ankles, underwear and all.  
  
Breaking the kiss, he looks at Ignis’s body. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than anything his X-rated fantasies ever conjured. For such a slender guy, Ignis is toned all over. There’s barely an ounce of fat on him. That ain’t a surprise, though, and it’s not what Gladio’s really interested in seeing. Lips parting, he glances at Ignis’s cock where it lies against his belly, rigid as iron. It’s bigger than the average, long and thick, and a shiny string of precome dribbles from the head of it.  
  
He takes it in his hand and gives it a firm stroke. Ignis grunts and bucks into his touch.  
  
“Think we should hit the brakes?” Gladio says, watching the muscles in Ignis’s face twitch with pleasure. Six, he’s spread out for Gladio like a half unwrapped birthday present, just asking to be used, but there’s gonna be a price to pay if they go through with this. There’s no two ways around it. “Ignis?”  
  
“Do you want to stop?” Ignis props himself up on his elbows, blinking at Gladio from behind his glasses.  
  
Gladio hesitates. He gives Ignis’s cock another stroke, smearing precome over the head with his thumb. “I dunno.”  
  
Ignis lets out a shaky breath as he glares up at Gladio. “Are you mocking me?”  
  
“No, I—”  
  
“Well, this is typical of you, isn’t it?” Ignis snaps.  
  
He tries to shove Gladio’s hand away, but Gladio pins him to the mattress, shutting him up with another kiss. _Fuck._ Mocking Ignis is the last thing on his mind. Screwing his ass into next week, on the other hand? That’s at the fore.  
  
Growling, he trails kisses over Ignis’s jaw and throat, his dick throbbing when Ignis lets out a ragged moan. He reaches between them to unbuckle his belt and get his own cock out. Then he takes both of them in his hand and starts to stroke, rubbing the heads together. Between the two of them, there’s enough precome to make it a slick handjob. He shivers as pleasure sparks down his spine, his ass cheeks clenching as he thrusts into his own grip. And he actually groans when Ignis sucks his earlobe into his mouth, teeth nibbling gently on the sensitive skin.    
  
“There are condoms in the nightstand,” Ignis murmurs in his ear.  
  
Shit.  
  
Gladio rips the drawer open so fast he nearly upends the table. There’s a twelve-pack of foil-wrapped rubbers in there (so says the labeling, although the box is almost empty) and a bottle of lube. He grabs the lube and a condom and gets back between Ignis’s legs, tapping him on the hip.  
  
“Turn over,” he says roughly.  
  
Ignis takes his glasses off, folds them, and hands them to Gladio. “Put these on the nightstand, please.”  
  
Gladio obliges, and Ignis rolls onto his belly, bending his knees under him to lift his ass into the air. He’s still in his shirt and suit jacket, his pants caught around his ankles. He looks like he can’t wait to get fucked. Good thing Gladio’s in a giving mood. He squeezes some lube onto his fingertips, then spreads Ignis’s cheeks and pushes one slick digit past the ring of muscle. Ignis hisses, but it goes in easy enough, like he’s been around the block before. Gladio starts to move his finger in and out in imitation of what he’s planning to do with his dick.  
  
“Jerk yourself off,” he growls.  
  
Biting his lip, he watches Ignis stroke his own cock for a half minute before he pushes a second finger inside. He still doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting when he invited Ignis to the bar—maybe some terse words over a pint, followed by a begrudging handshake—but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It wasn’t Ignis on his hands and knees with Gladio’s finger inside him. It wasn’t Ignis fighting back moans, or Gladio working his prostate mercilessly.  
  
It definitely wasn’t rolling a condom onto his dick and lining up to fuck Ignis in the ass.  
  
“You’re sure about this?” he says again as he grabs Ignis by the hips. He wants this—Six, does he ever want it—but not if Ignis is gonna hate him tomorrow.  
  
“Yes,” Ignis pants, voice sharp with impatience, his eyes closing as Gladio’s cock nudges his asshole, “yes, so for goodness sake, won’t you get on with it?”  
  
Gladio chuckles and pushes in. Under him, Ignis tenses, his muscles closing up against the intrusion. Gladio gives him the space of a few breaths to adjust, and then he gets the rest of his cock in bit by bit, with a series of short, shallow thrusts. One of Ignis’s hands grasps the bedspread next to his head, like he needs something to anchor him to reality. Hell, Gladio kind of feels the same way.  
  
Because he’s inside Ignis.  
  
He’s _inside_ him.  
  
It takes him a second to realize he’s trembling. Ignis feels so damn good—so damn hot and tight and _wrong_ —that he’s worried he’s going to come if he moves too soon. He focuses on steadying his breaths, on reining himself back from the brink of orgasm. It ain’t easy. Ignis keeps clenching around him. But slowly, the heat in his dick subsides to a simmer, and only then does he sink his hips forward, until his pelvis meets Ignis’s ass. He pulls back slowly and shoves in again, driving Ignis’s face into the pillow.  
  
“You like that?” he asks, sliding a hand up Ignis’s back, over his suit jacket. “You like it when I fuck you, Iggy?”  
  
In response, Ignis muffles a moan in his pillow.  
  
“Yeah, I bet you do.” Gladio grabs him by the back of the neck and holds him down, drilling his ass a little faster, a little harder, gathering steam with every thrust. “Bet you’ve been thinking about letting me do this for a real long time, haven’t you?”  
  
Maybe he’s projecting. After all, he’s the one who gets into bed every night and jerks off to thoughts of pounding Ignis through the mattress, the table, the wall—any firm surface, really, that could feasibly be used to fuck. If only he’d known how sweet it would be when he finally got around to it. He thinks about all the condescending things Ignis has said to him. He thinks about Ignis scheduling their meetings to conflict with his personal life, and of Ignis stealing his sword, and he channels every last ounce of frustration, every last boiling drop of anger, into their joining.  
  
He fucks Ignis like he’s meting out a punishment.  
  
Slowly, he pushes Ignis’s hips down until he’s lying flat on the bed, his erection caught between the mattress and his own body weight. But Gladio doesn’t let up. He changes the angle of his thrusts, looking for the spot that will make Ignis cry out in ecstasy, because so far, Ignis hasn’t been making much noise except the occasional grunt or choked-off moan. Gladio wants to make him scream. Gladio wants to hear him beg for his orgasm.  
  
He pauses to shift, to kneel on either side of Ignis’s thighs, before he starts again. It must be the angle he’s looking for, because finally, Ignis _does_ cry out, his head lifting off the pillow.  
  
“Gladio!” he gasps.  
  
Gladio thrusts in again, hard, and the gasp turns into a loud, helpless groan. That sound coming from Ignis is one of the hottest things he’s ever heard. Grinning, he hammers that spot with sharp, irregular thrusts, tangling his fingers in Ignis’s hair for leverage. It ain’t easy work. His heart’s thundering in his chest. He can feel sweat trickling down his face and spine, dripping onto Ignis’s perfectly pressed suit jacket.  
  
A few more thrusts, and Ignis starts to shudder under him, his muscles clenching uncontrollably around Gladio’s dick as he comes. It’s enough to drag Gladio with him. Gladio makes a choked sound, his orgasm rushing over him, and his hips stutter a few more final, deep pumps into Ignis’s ass. When he’s empty, he collapses half on top of Ignis, breathing hard into sweat-dampened sheets. Astrals, he feels like he’s just been trampled by a Behemoth after running a marathon.  
  
And it’s good. It’s damn good. He hasn’t had sex that satisfying in a long time.  
  
Laughing breathlessly, he glances at Ignis, who’s rolled onto his side, facing Gladio, the open tails of his shirt draping over his torso. There’s a wet spot between them where Ignis must have come into the sheets. Ignis gives him a guarded look as he pulls off the condom, ties it, and tosses it into the trash pail next to the nightstand.  
  
“You okay?” Gladio asks.  
  
Ignis pulls the duvet up to cover his lower half. “Perhaps you should go.”  
  
For a second, Gladio doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t think sleeping together would make them best friends, but he figured it might take some of the bitterness out of their working relationship.  
  
Ignis must see the hurt on his face, because he quickly adds, “I just mean…it’s an early morning for both of us.”  
  
“Yeah. Sure.” Gladio swings his legs off the bed and stands, zipping himself back into his jeans. “Leave it to you to kick a guy out as soon as you’re done fucking him.”  
  
“Gladio—”  
  
Gladio runs a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. Look, I’ll see you Tuesday, okay?”  
  
Ignis doesn’t say anything else, just watches Gladio as he leaves the bedroom in search of his shirt. He finds it lying in the middle of the hallway, where this whole goddamn mess started. He picks it up and tugs it over his head, glancing just once more at the half-open bedroom door before he lets himself out of the apartment.  
  
As he walks home, he thinks about all the mistakes he’s made in his life. All the times he’s let his dad down, all the times he’s made Iris cry, all the times Cor’s had to kick his ass for letting his ego get him waist-deep in shit.  
  
But this one? This one has to be the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! As it turns out, getting these two in the sack together is easier said than done. Now, I pass this back to the lovely Swordy! Thanks for reading!


	11. Ignis

_Aldus the Terrible’s reign was surprisingly uneventful. In fact, the moniker he became known by pertained more to his lack of prowess on the croquet field than how he ruled Lucis during his seventeen year reign. During that time he_

The cursor blinks, patiently awaiting the next riveting fact about one of Lucis’s least popular monarchs, but the words are behaving about as well as the ball in one of Aldus’ famed croquet matches. He knocks his glasses up off his nose so that he can rub his eyes. They’re stinging, the irritation increasing every time he touches them, but not enough to stop him seeking those few seconds of relief. It's now gone three a.m. He'd hoped he could piece together most of Noct’s assignment from his own knowledge and the history books in his apartment, but the essay title was very specific and there's no way he can scrape a passing grade, let alone something worthy of a future monarch, without the reference book Noct asked him to get from the library.

He studies what he's written so far. It amounts to just under two thousand words, three thousand short of the minimum. _Moniker_ … would an eighteen year old use that word? Would _Noct_ use that word? He deletes it, then types ‘name’ instead. He closes his eyes and sighs. A headache is gnawing at his skull, has been for the last hour or so, despite liberal applications of painkillers and coffee. Really, what he needs is sleep. Honestly, he can't remember the last time he _had_ a decent night’s rest.

He glances away from the laptop screen, down the darkened hallway towards his bedroom door. Instantly, the memories come flooding back. Mouths and bodies pressed together, the door banging so hard against the wall in their hurry to get through it, that it's left a dent in the plaster. _Oh gods_ …

He closes his eyes again, trying to figure out for the billionth time how he's come to find himself in this situation. A drink. Just one drink. They were supposed to talk, clear the air, maybe find some common ground so that they could move forward and stop being so antagonistic towards each other. And now he's a notch on Gladio Amicitia’s bedpost with the antagonism stronger than ever. Gladio had looked wounded when he'd asked him to leave, but the reality is the second he's with his Crownsguard friends, he'll be sharing all the gory details about how he bedded Noct’s frigid chamberlain. And they’ll laugh at Gladio and tease him, all the while bolstering his ego because he's achieved the impossible. Excellent. He's now a joke as well as somebody no one likes.

Worse still, is how obviously willing he was. Even just thinking about it brings heat to his cheeks. He’s always viewed his excellent memory as a gift, but right now it's a curse, because he's reliving every moan and every movement in excruciating detail. He pictures himself backside in the air like a beast in heat, so _wanton_ and _base_ , with no regard for the consequences. His suit and bedsheets, stained and stinking of sweat and sex, are balled up in the laundry bag, which sits by his front door like an accusation. _Six have mercy_ , he didn't even make it out of his _clothes_ , which somehow feels more humiliating than if he'd been naked. His pictures himself on his hands and knees, Gladio thrusting into him possessively, gripping him by the back of his neck and ordering him to touch himself.

And he’d done it because at that moment, he'd wanted everything Gladio was offering and more, and there probably wasn't a single thing he wouldn't have done if Gladio had asked him to. To hell with whatever came after. He'd wanted Gladio. He'd wanted Gladio to take him and to… to do horrible, undignified things to him. He'd wanted to confess all his deepest, darkest fantasies and make them real. And it had all been better than he'd ever imagined. All those nights fantasising about being intimate with the other man paled in comparison to the reality. Gladio had touched him and wrung noises from him that he'd never made with any other sexual partner.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since he last slept with anyone, despite the almost empty box of condoms in his nightstand. Almost a year if his recollection is correct. His libido is high and he enjoys sex tremendously, but his duties make it almost impossible to actually meet someone. He's used InsomniaMatch a couple of times, but generally he's not a fan of using a dating app to meet people, casual hookups never really being his style.

There was someone a while ago - it never came close to a relationship - but they were both content with that and it was mutually beneficial insomuch as their physical needs were regularly met. Work had taken his bed partner from Insomnia earlier last year, and there just hasn't been the opportunity to meet anyone else, given how many hours a day he's dealing with Noct and other Crown business.

Tired of trying to find words that just won't come, he shuts down the laptop and goes and stands in front of the mirror in his hallway. Admittedly, the lighting isn't great in here, but he forces himself to study his reflection, trying to see himself through Gladio’s eyes. The results aren't favourable. _You look like hell_ , Gladio had said. He lifts his glasses to better see the shadows that are usually easy to ignore with his lenses in the way. They paint a picture of exhaustion, warning signs that have no business being on the face of a twenty-one year old. Maybe Gladio has a point.

 _No_. What he's looking at is simply the price of holding an important position that comes with significant responsibility. He is otherwise healthy, even if his skin betrays him. This is nothing new. Despite a perfectly balanced diet, puberty ran rampant across his face for a number of years, the legacies of which are thankfully few.

Once again, Gladio just knew _exactly_ what buttons to push, to strike at his insecurities. He's underestimated the other man, a mistake that it pains him to admit. As much as it appears that Gladio just reacts to what happens and uses a combination of brute strength and luck to best his opponents, it is clear that Gladio is as much a strategist as he is. Gladio is reading the board, checking his pieces and making moves that he _just isn't seeing_. Gladio is _laughing_ at him - now more than ever - as the other man has succeeded in proving just how easy it is to get under his skin and out of his clothes.

Well, it ends _now_.

Reluctantly, he goes into his bedroom. The room is now clean - almost surgically clean - with his bed stripped and remade and his trashcan emptied of… evidence. Despite the time spent scrubbing and cleaning, it's almost impossible not to look at the bed and remember what took place on there several hours earlier.

Gladio, bare-chested and staring at him with undisguised lust.

Gladio’s fingers working him open.

The gloriousness of orgasm, of never wanting it to end.

He gets into bed and lies down on his side after putting his glasses on the nightstand. Possibly the worst thing about this whole nightmarish scenario, is no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise, sex with Gladio was _incredible_.

After a few moments, he reaches for his phone. He navigates to his messages, recalling earlier in the evening when Gladio had attempted to mitigate his earlier insults. _Someone, somewhere’s gotta like you, right_? Gladio had mentioned Eirene, having caught a glimpse of her name when he'd commandeered his phone to exchange contact details. He realises he'd like to hear her voice or see her face, but neither are possible nor appropriate at this hour. He settles for sending her a message, which she'll see in the morning.

 _I hope you are well_ , he begins, before deleting it quickly. How many times has Eirene admonished him for being overly formal with her? Instead, he types: _I've made a terrible mistake and I'm not sure how to fix it_. Then he hits send before he can change his mind.

He’s leaning over to put his phone back on the nightstand, when it starts to ring in his hand. There's a flash of anxiety that it's going to be Gladio, but when he glances at the screen, he sees it's Eirene who’s calling him. He answers it quickly.

“Eirene, I'm so sorry. My message didn't wake you did it?”

“Not at all. I was up feeding the wee one.”

He settles back onto his pillow, already feeling soothed by the sound of her voice.

“How are the children?”

“They're grand. Sophia has just started walking.”

“That's wonderful.” For a moment neither of them say anything, even though the direction of this conversation is inevitable. Eirene goes there first - her directness one of the reasons he loves her.

“So what’s this mistake that's got you wide awake at-” there's a pause, presumably as she checks the time “-three forty-two a.m.?”

He sighs. “I'd prefer to spare you the unedifying details, but put simply, I allowed myself to get carried away and sully an already complicated relationship with a person whom I'm expected to work closely with.”

“Ignis,” Eirene says in that sharp voice that makes him feel five years old again. “Are you telling me you slept with someone you shouldn't have?”

Blushing hard, he thanks his stars she didn't video call him. He should have known she’d figure it out in about two seconds flat. He pictures her, frowning into the phone as she feeds her latest charge, silver curls falling about her face from that messy half-in, half-out bun she favours.

“Unfortunately, that's an accurate summation of events.”

“Mmm,” is her response. “Were you careful?”

“Of course!” he replies, somewhat indignant that she'd even ask. She chuckles softly at that.

“So you weren't completely out of your head, then. With that in mind, are you totally sure it was such a big mistake?”

He thinks of Gladio, of the unmistakable chemistry between them, sadly confined only to the bedroom.

“Most definitely. I believe it would be disastrous for anything to continue between us.”

Eirene makes a thoughtful sound. He decides he needs to voice what’s troubling him most now he's told her.

“Are you disappointed with me?”

“What? No! You could never disappoint me, Ignis, You're a grown man and you're going to have needs and it's certainly not my place to tell you what you should do with your life. But if you're completely sure you've made a mistake, the most important thing is to focus on avoiding repeating it.”

“You're right,” he answers, closing his eyes to allow her wonderfully melodic voice to wash over him.

“Remember, my love. We’re _not_ our mistakes, it's what we _learn_ from them that makes us who we are.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. “I appreciate your wisdom, Eirene.”

“Any time. Of course, you could always repay me by coming to visit.”

He smiles. “I’d love to; I have so few memories of Tenebrae itself.”

“Well, you were so little when you left. You should come and see it for yourself.”

“My greatest wish would be to see you.”

“And mine, my love. And mine.”

Speaking to Eirene eases something in him. Yes, he's made a mistake, but his job is focussed on solving problems, so this is nothing he can't handle. He snatches about three hours’ sleep, and when he wakes, he’s horrified to discover that he's actually slept through his first alarm. On autopilot, he's already in the shower before he remembers that he showered vigorously mere hours ago.

 _Oh gods, last night_. The water - a little too hot - pounds him as he stands, eyes closed, leaning with one hand braced against the wall. He needs to get to the library, grab the book, finish the assignment and meet Noct to hand it over, hopefully with enough time to give the prince a lecture on fulfilling his obligations. The one bright point of this hectic schedule is at least he won't have to face Gladio any time soon.

In that instant, something occurs to him. Hurriedly, he shuts off the spray and grabs his towel, leaving wet footprints through his apartment as he goes to check that...

 _No_.

The report for King Regis sits on his kitchen counter. Gladio didn't take it - whether that's by accident or design he'll never know, and frankly, he can't afford to think about it right now. He rushes back to his bedroom to get dressed, throwing on a clean suit and running a comb through his damp hair, before he hurries out, mindful to take the report with him.

He drives to the citadel and parks up. The entire journey he's been trying to come up with a credible reason for why he's now handing over a report that he'd told Regis was already in Gladio’s possession, but he's still got nothing believable, a situation which panics him somewhat.

With the engine off, he closes his eyes and breathes steadily, trying to find his centre. It truly confounds him why he is so incapable of thinking clearly when it comes to anything related to Gladio. How can one man throw him off balance so completely? Without a reasonable excuse, Regis will undoubtedly wonder why he's said he's unable to make their meeting, when he's obviously here at the citadel, and it’s yet another incident that will contribute to the opinion Regis must be forming of him that he's unreliable and not the mature, dependable influence on Noctis that he first appeared to be. With an unhappy sigh, he gets out of the car and heads inside.

The palace corridors are quiet this early in the morning, which is a blessing. He's still thinking about how to explain himself to Regis when he rounds the corner and almost collides with a person coming the opposite way.

“Gladio!” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“Figured I'd get an early work out,” Gladio says, his expression somewhat guarded. “Had stuff on my mind.”

He nods mutely. Too late, he realises he's holding the folder in front of him like a shield.

“Shit!” Gladio says suddenly. “I forgot to take the report, didn't I?” He gestures for it. “Here, give it to me and I'll take it to Regis.”

From this, he has to assume that Gladio didn't intend to leave him in the lurch, but he's still not one hundred percent sure, given this man tampered with his schedule in order to make him look foolish in front of the king not all that long ago. Still, Gladio offering to take it now solves his issue about seeing Regis when he shouldn't be here, so he hands it over.

“Thank you.”

Gladio is now studying him intently.

“So.. how you doin’?”

He draws himself up, trying not to think about Gladio noticing all the signs of sleeplessness that run rampant across his face. He refuses to look weak in front of this man, because once again, Gladio doesn't look a bit affected by what happened last night.

“I'm well, thank you. Yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. I'm okay.”

This appears to kill the conversation stone dead, the tension between them cloying. He thought Gladio would be angry given how they parted, which would be significantly easier to deal with. As it is, he now feels slightly guilty for how the evening ended between them. Conscious that they need to be civil towards each other if they want to show everyone that they can work together, he decides to try and make amends.

“Gladio. I want to apologise for my abruptness yesterday evening. It was rude of me and I hope it won't affect our relationship. After all, it's imperative we keep our duties to Noct at the fore of everything we do.”

Gladio hasn't said anything at this point, but his expression is less wary, more relieved. Maybe he too realises that what they did was a mistake and the best thing they can do is move on from it as quickly as possible. The other man finally opens his mouth to reply when a door further up the corridor opens, and the marshal steps out. Cor turns and, seeing the two of them standing there, comes over to them.

“Good morning, boys,” Cor says, casting an assessing eye over them both. “You're here early.”

“Delivering this,” he replies, gesturing to the report at the same time as Gladio says, “work out.”

Cor nods, still gazing at them both, clearly trying to figure out what's going on. Plainly things can't get any worse.

And then they do.

Gladio notices his shoelace is untied and bends down to tie it. The movement causes his t-shirt to ride up and it's impossible not to be drawn to the skin that's revealed, in particular the red, parallel welts caused by his own fingernails, mere hours earlier. Heart rate now significantly increased, he looks back to Cor to see that thankfully, the marshal’s attention has been claimed by something further up the corridor. Gladio stands back up, and the crisis is averted.

“Well, I hope you've thought more about my advice about trying to get to know each other,” Cor says gruffly. “Don't let me down. Now if you'll excuse me.”

The marshal leaves, yet his face still feels like it's on fire. Alone again, Gladio shoots him a sheepish grin.

“Wow, that was a close call,” Gladio comments, chuckling slightly. “I'm pretty sure it's not what he meant when he said we should get to know each other.”

He stares at Gladio aghast. How can he be so, so…. _flippant_?

“Come on,” Gladio continues, “you’ve gotta admit it's pretty funny.”

He can feel himself getting angry because it seems that no matter how hard he tries to remedy this untenable situation, Gladio scuppers his efforts at every turn. Furious, he grabs Gladio's arm and hauls him further down the corridor, away from potentially prying eyes and ears. He ignores the momentary shock on Gladio’s face and fixes him with a murderous glare.

“Let me be clear, Gladiolus, that what happened between us was a complete and utter mistake. Any continuation of these…. these _antics_ , will undoubtedly jeopardise our positions within the royal court - a situation I foolishly assumed you would also wish to avoid. I have no desire to end my tenure as Noct’s chamberlain in disgrace, as a result of some seedy dalliance with his majesty’s sworn protector.”

He’s said enough, but the dumbfounded expression on Gladio’s face stokes his ire and he carries on, unchallenged.

“We have important duties that we must be able to focus on, with _no_ distractions. If, by some small mercy you haven't already told your friends what occurred yesterday evening, I would ask that you don't speak of it to anyone.”

Gladio’s eyes narrow. “Are you so embarrassed to have slept with me, Ignis? You seemed pretty up for it last night.”

Flustered, he opens mouth to respond when Gladio grabs his arm, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Admit it, Iggy, it was _good_. And I'm well aware of my duties, but we’re entitled to a private life too, you know.”

“Being entitled to something doesn't mean we should,” he counters, pulling his arm free. “Not when we’ve sworn ourselves to the Crown. I have my priorities straight, even if you don't.”

“Don't you _dare_ question my goddamned priorities,” Gladio rounds on him angrily, his voice dangerous. “Because you sure as hell weren't thinkin’ about Noct when you were encouraging me to fuck your brains out.”

If possible, he flushes even deeper. “This discussion is over,” he hisses, glancing around to check that they're still alone. “It matters not whether I was willing or whether I desire a repeat performance, it will _never, ever happen again_. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Gladio growls, throwing his hands in the air and glaring with undisguised hostility before he turns around and stalks off down the corridor. “Loud and fuckin’ _clear_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter to write on the back of Nix's ridiculously awesome last instalment. I hope people don't hate on the Igster...


	12. Gladio

Gladio’s phone pings on the bedside table.  
  
After this morning’s encounter, he should know better than to hope it’s Ignis texting him. It’s been twelve hours since Ignis shut him down—more than enough time to get over it—but he’s still in a shitty mood. Sex has always been a bonding thing for him, even with his handful of one-night stands, and even when he didn’t stay the night. Skin on skin contact’s a good way to get to know someone. He likes pillow talk and cuddling—it’s intimate, and sometimes it leads to a second round.  
  
That’s why it doesn’t make sense that Ignis could fuck him, then act like it meant nothing.  
  
Irrationally, he thinks Ignis might’ve changed his mind about sleeping together again. But as soon as he grabs his phone off the nightstand, his soaring heart rate takes a nosedive. It’s just an email from Cor.  
  
_Change of plans for Sunday. You’re relieved of your duties at the Citadel. Meet me at the Crownsguard training facility in Steel Town at 8 a.m. sharp. Wear a set of Crownsguard training clothes you won’t mind having to throw out. Respond to this email to confirm._  
  
_P.S. I don’t want to hear any complaining._  
  
The Crownsguard training facility in Steel Town, huh? That’s in the industrial park on the northwestern outskirts of the city, right next to the Wall. It’s a huge complex, a city in miniature, designed specifically for practical tests and security drills. The last time he was there was almost two years ago, when Cor had all the Crownsguard recruits run through a training exercise after the Citadel updated its security procedures.  
  
Frowning, he responds: _confirmed, but what’s this about?_  
  
Cor gets back to him five minutes later with: _A team-building event for new Crownsguard recruits, just in time for the prince’s birthday gala. Thought you and Ignis could use it, so I’m taking you along.You’re partnered together._  
  
Gladio groans and drops his head back against the pillow. He can just imagine Ignis getting a similar email and reacting badly. The guy’s gonna make his life a living hell on Sunday, he just knows it.    
  
Fucking Ignis.  
  
Now Gladio’s thinking about him again. And not nice thoughts, like how good his ass felt clenched around Gladio’s dick, or the taste of gin on his breath, or how soft texture of his hair under Gladio’s fingers. Nah, he’s thinking about their last conversation, and how Ignis acted like he wanted nothing to do with Gladio outside their strained working relationship. It ain’t like Gladio wants to marry the guy or anything, but it stung. He’s not used to being rejected.  
  
Something Ignis said is still bothering him, though.  
  
_It matters not whether I was willing or whether I desire a repeat performance, it will never_ , ever _happen again. Do you hear me?_  
  
A repeat performance.  
  
Does that mean Ignis wants to do it again, despite his denials? Is he sitting at his desk right now, thinking about Gladio’s cock inside him? Gladio lets out a shaky breath. No. Fuck, no. He’s not going there. What’s the use of thinking about it when Ignis has made his stance painfully clear? It doesn’t matter if, somewhere deep down, he _wants_ to sleep with Gladio again. He ain’t gonna budge.  
  
But still…  
  
Gladio bites his lip and glances at his phone. It’s gonna drive him nuts all night if he doesn’t ask. And it’s not like their conversation today cleared the air. If anything, it just made things worse. There’s no harm in asking. The worst Ignis can do is shoot him down again.  
  
Right?  
  
He picks up his phone and types out a message, hitting send before he can think twice.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 7:59 PM):** did you mean it when you said you wanted to do it again?  
  
Heart somersaulting, he puts his phone down. He’s pretty sure Ignis is busy slaving over paperwork or making Noct’s bed. He won’t respond right away. Probably. If at all.  
  
He rolls onto his belly on his mattress and tries to focus on his book. Chews his thumbnail and eyes his phone, willing the damn thing to vibrate. But it stays silent. Shit, maybe Ignis is planning to ignore him entirely outside of their pre-scheduled meetings.  
  
Ignis does respond, though, twelve minutes later.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:11 PM):** What? When did I say that?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:12 PM):** you said it didn't matter whether you liked it or wanted to do it again.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:16 PM):** I was speaking hypothetically. What I meant was we shouldn’t do ANYTHING that takes our focus away from our respective roles.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:17 PM):** but do you want to?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:17 PM):** i'm not asking if we should or shouldn’t.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:18 PM):** The two things are linked. What I want is completely irrelevant. Wanting it doesn't magically make something not a terrible idea.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:18 PM):** why can't you just answer a question honestly?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:21 PM):** i liked what we did. a lot.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:23 PM):** So where does that put me in your league table of best hookups? Top twenty? Top fifty?  
  
Gladio frowns. For starters, he hasn’t slept with enough people to have a top ten, let alone a top twenty, and it ain’t like he’s ranking their performance. A few have been better in bed than others, sure, but everyone brings something different to sex. There’s no comparing them.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:23 PM):** you really think i'm that kind of guy?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:24 PM):** i'm not comparing you to anyone and i don't fuck around nearly as much as you seem to think.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:26 PM):** So all the locker room talk is lies? Your friends say you have a different companion for every day of the week. Are you now going to try and tell me you're recruiting members for a book club?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:28 PM):** i don't know what they're saying, but it's gotta be exaggeration. i have the occasional hookup, yeah, but i'm not fucking my way through insomnia or anything.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:28 PM):** is this why you don't like me?  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:29 PM):** We're just very different people.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:30):** you only like people who are the same as you?  
  
There’s another delay before Ignis answers. Gladio’s about to give up and put his phone down when his phone vibrates again.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:37 PM):** Now you're putting words in my mouth. I don't dislike you, Gladio. You have some admirable qualities and you're firm with Noct.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:39 PM):** then why do you treat me the way you do? why did you kick me out after you were done with me?  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:40 PM):** I already apologized for being so abrupt. We were both in work early and I had Noct's assignment to write.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:42 PM):** talking to you is like going in circles.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:43 PM):** just give me a yes or no answer. do you still want me?  
  
He watches the screen, his heart beating a little faster. It shouldn’t matter so much whether Ignis wants him. It was just a lay. A meaningless fuck. He should put it behind him and get on with his life.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:50 PM):** Since you clearly won't leave the subject alone... I did enjoy it.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:50 PM):** and?  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:51 PM):** And? Heavens, Gladio, you're like a dog with a bone. Very well, since you insist I spell it out for you. If our circumstances were different, I would not be averse to... further liaisons. Is that what you wanted to hear?  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:52 PM):** yeah.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:52 PM):** i just don't see what our circumstances have to do with it. no one's gotta know but you and me.  
  
**Ignis (08/21, 8:54 PM):** I'm sorry, Gladio. My mind is made up.  
  
**Gladiolus (08/21, 8:55 PM):** fine. goodnight.  
  
Growling, Gladio throws his phone onto the nightstand and scrubs a hand over his face. He should’ve known better than to bring it up. Now he’s in an even grouchier mood.  
  
The worst part is, Ignis isn’t wrong. It wouldn’t look good if they carried on fucking and the king found out. He doesn’t know what Regis would do, if anything, but there would be a conflict of interest. People might question his loyalty to Noct. They’d wonder whether Gladio could make the right decisions regarding Noct’s welfare if he felt anything for Ignis other than detached respect. His dad would kill him if he knew what they did, after all the lectures he made Gladio sit through about the sanctity of his duty.  
  
But he can’t help wanting Ignis—wanting to touch him, to kiss him, to come inside him again. They crossed a bridge last night, and while Ignis has scurried back to the safety of the other side, Gladio would rather burn the whole damn thing down.  
  
Sighing, he pushes himself to his feet and pads across the room to his dresser. He looks in the mirror and tries to see himself through Ignis’s eyes. Titan’s stony balls. He’s an attractive guy, he knows that much. But for all he’s told Ignis he looks rough, Gladio ain’t looking so great himself. There are deep shadows under his eyes, and—fuck, are those lines on his forehead? No. No, it’s just the light. All the same, this stuff with Ignis, not to mention his regular duties, is making it hard to get a good night’s sleep. It’s taking a toll.  
  
He should probably get an early night.  
  
But first, he may as well make sure he has all the gear he needs for Sunday. He opens his drawers and searches through his workout clothes until he finds what he’s looking for—the oldest set of Crownsguard training fatigues he owns, a worn pair of form-fitting black sweats and a grey t-shirt he suspects will be a little snug on him now. He places them on top of his dresser, then throws his water bottle, a towel, and his dog-eared copy of Vibianus’s _Meditations_ into his duffel bag.  
  
That should do it.  
  
As he settles into bed, he tries to think of anything but Ignis.  
  
And, as always, he fails.

  
*

  
Two days later, he arrives at the training facility a little sooner than planned. Sighing, he checks his phone. 7:37 a.m. He figured Cor, at least, would be here by now, but there are no other vehicles in the parking lot. The place is deserted. Hell, he even beat Ignis. And there he was, thinking the guy was always three hours early for everything. The day is sweltering—too hot to wait in his car—so he grabs his duffel bag and his book and heads over to the oak tree towering over the front lawn, settling down in its shade.  
  
Leaning back against the tree trunk, he opens the book and rests it in his lap. He’s probably read Vibianus’s _Meditations_ a thousand times—so many times he can recite most of the verses from memory by now—but it never gets old. The familiar words are like a mantra. They keep him calm, cool-headed, and he’s gonna need a lot of both if he wants to get through whatever Cor has planned for them. When things get really bad, he closes his eyes and thinks about his mom’s voice reading the poems to him.  
  
Hopefully it won’t come to that today.  
  
A humid breeze rustles the pages and stirs his hair into his face. As he combs his fingers through it, raking it back, another steel-grey, Citadel-issued car pulls into the lot and parks next to his. He watches as Ignis steps out, clad in an outfit that matches Gladio’s, and slings his own duffel bag over his shoulder. Fuck, he looks good. Gladio can’t help staring at the way his t-shirt clings to his tapered waist, and he sure as hell can’t help wanting to push the fabric up to touch the skin underneath. The fact that it’s the only part of Ignis he hasn’t seen naked makes it all the more tempting.  
  
Ignis turns and catches him looking, and his entire face tugs into a grimace. So much for peace and quiet. Gladio closes his book as Ignis approaches and places it on the grass next to him.  
  
“Has no one else arrived?” Ignis asks.  
  
“Nah, but they should be here any minute.”  
  
Ignis shifts his weight to his left foot, his eyes moving from Gladio’s face to his book and back again. “Do you know how many Crownsguard are participating today?”  
  
Gladio shrugs. “I ain’t the Marshal. Don’t look at me.”  
  
Ignis frowns, opening his mouth to speak, but two more cars pulling into the lot interrupt whatever he was about to say. Cor and Monica get out of one car, while a Crownsguard recruit Gladio doesn’t recognize gets out of the other. They watch as Cor and Monica start unloading big black equipment bags from the trunk and rope the poor recruit into helping them carry it.  
  
“I suppose we should help,” Ignis says.  
  
Gladio grunts, but doesn’t argue. He shoves his book into his duffel and zips it shut before following Ignis to Cor’s car. Together, they manage to haul all seven bags from the trunk to the doors of the main building. They ain’t all that heavy, but they’re awkward to carry, and by the time they’re done, the armpits and front of Gladio’s shirt are dark with sweat.  
  
“Gladio,” Cor says as they take a break in the shade of the tree. Others have joined them now—six more Crownsguard recruits, all young and anxious, gazing at Cor with awe. “Ignis. Good to see you.”  
  
“What’s this all about, Marshal?” Ignis asks.  
  
“Like I told you in the email I sent you, it’s a team-building exercise. We’ll be simulating a hostage situation,” Cor says. “We’re still waiting on eight others. I’ll tell you more when they arrive.”  
  
As they wait, Gladio and Ignis help Cor carry the bags into the main building, setting them down just inside the doors of the great hall. Gladio can’t say for sure what’s inside them, but based on Cor’s brief explanation, he has a few ideas—binoculars and radios for everyone participating in the exercise, some paintball guns, and maps of the complex. He’s been through this kind of thing more than once before.  
  
When they’re done, Gladio brings his duffel inside, too, and shoves it into a locker in the change room down the hall. He splashes water on his face and puts the damp parts of his t-shirt under the hand dryer, but it’s no damn use. He’s just gonna have to walk around with the sweat stains. Lifting an arm, he takes a sniff. It ain’t too bad yet, but he’s starting to get a little musky. Running around in the sun all day isn’t gonna help matters, either.  
  
Ignis will just have to deal with it.  
  
He returns to the hall to find that everyone has arrived. He doesn’t recognize any of the new recruits, but he recognizes a few Crownsguard veterans. They nod at him in greeting as he joins the group gathered around Cor. Monica’s nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Let’s get started,” Cor says. “As we all know, Prince Noctis’s birthday gala is less than two weeks away. You’ve passed all your practical exams and proved your mettle, and you’re officially members of the Crownsguard.  
  
“But during public events such as this gala, we’re at a heightened risk of threats against His Majesty and the prince. You’ll need to know how to work together like a well-oiled machine to defuse any such threats, should they occur. So today, we’ll be staging a hostage scenario so you can get to know each other a little better. This is a game, but remember, there will be consequences if you fail at your task.”  
  
Cor motions to the five Crownsguard veterans. Four of them are already armed with paintball guns. “Meet Demetria, Phaedros, Callia, and Quintus. They’ll be playing our abductors today. Nikandros over there will be playing the prince, their hostage. I’ve already split you into teams of two, but you’ll all need to work together to rescue the prince. Any questions so far?”  
  
No one pipes up. The double doors to the hall open and Monica returns then, two empty equipment bags slung over her shoulder. She sets them down against the wall and comes to stand next to Cor, hands clasped behind her back.  
  
“Each team will be given a map,” Cor continues. “You’ll notice an X on yours; it marks your safehouse. You’ll need to find your way there to pick up your radio and binoculars.”  
  
Cor gestures at Monica, who starts handing out the maps, one for each team. Ignis unrolls theirs as soon as he receives it, his brow furrowing as he puzzles over the seemingly random sections filled in with red marker. Gladio leans over his shoulder to get a look, and the citrusy scent of his hair sends an unexpected stab of need through him.  
  
_Six._  
  
“The parts we’ve marked off are enemy territory,” Cor says. “You’ll need to move with extreme caution in those areas. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if you’re shot with a paintball gun, but I’ll say it anyway: disqualification. If you’re disqualified, you’ll be spending an extra fifteen hours next week in the gym with me or Monica. Am I understood?”  
  
They all nod.  
  
“Great. You five—” Cor waves a hand at the Crownsguard playing the abductors and the prince. “—can get to your positions now. We’ll give you a ten minute head-start. I’ll send you word via radio when we’re ready to go.”  
  
The five of them file out, leaving seven teams alone with Cor. Monica starts to hand out paintball guns, one to each duo. Gladio accepts theirs when she gets around to them. Seems to make the most sense, and anyway, Ignis is still engrossed in the map, thoughtfully running a finger back and forth over his lower lip.  
  
“To reiterate, your objective is to retrieve the prince,” Cor says. “If you can extract him without taking down his captors, great, but that’s an unlikely scenario. A shot to the head or the chest is a kill. Anything else is a wound. They can keep firing as long as they’re not dead, so keep that in mind. But by that same token, so can you. Any questions?”  
  
“How long do we have?” Gladio asks.  
  
“We’ll go until four,” Cor says. “Once we get started, that’ll give you about seven hours to complete your mission.”  
  
“What happens if we don’t get the prince out by then?” another Crownsguard asks.  
  
Cor smiles grimly. “Then you’ll all be seeing me for an extra fifteen hours in the gym next week. Anything else?” When no one says anything, he nods and speaks into his radio. “All right, Alpha team, we’re ready to go. On your toes.”  
  
One of the recruits pipes up. “You’re starting before we get to our safehouses?”  
  
“Think of it as an extra layer of difficulty,” Cor says. “In the real world, our enemies won’t give us the luxury of safe passage, so you’d better watch your asses out there. Dismissed.”  
  
The teams start to file out. Gladio slings his paintball gun over his shoulder, following Ignis as he leaves the hall and turns left, heading for the back of the building.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asks.  
  
“The X on our map indicates an outbuilding in the far northeastern corner of the complex,” Ignis says, tracing a path on the paper with his fingertip. “It takes us between two red zones, so we’ll need to be careful.”  
  
“You sure there’s no way to get there without passing the enemy?”  
  
“Of course I’m sure, Gladio,” Ignis snaps. “I’m capable of reading a simple map.”  
  
Gladio growls. “I wasn’t saying you can’t read a map. Just thought maybe we could talk about it.”  
  
“I don’t imagine that will get us anywhere useful,” Ignis says, distracted, as they come to a T-junction. He looks left, then right, then down at the map. “Our conversations always end with one of us storming off, or—”  
  
“Fucking?” Gladio supplies.  
  
Ignis grimaces, pausing before the double doors at the end of the hall. “Must you be so crass?”  
  
“Wouldn’t call it crass,” Gladio shoots back. “Just honest.”  
  
“I said I didn’t want to discuss our…liaison,” Ignis says as he pushes one of the doors open. They emerge onto a gravel pathway between a pair of two-storey, red-brick buildings, and instinctively, Gladio glances up at the windows dotting them, looking for someone carrying a paintball gun. “If you’re quite finished, can we get back to the task at hand?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Gladio mutters. “Where are we going?”  
  
Ignis holds up the map so Gladio can see. “We follow this path until we reach the fork, then take a left through this little wooded area. Beyond that, the enemy territory will be on either side of the path. Our safehouse is just past it.”  
  
“Gotcha.”  
  
It shouldn’t take them more than five minutes to get there, maybe a little longer if they end up having to take cover along the way. As they walk, Ignis secures the map with the elastic and tucks it under his arm, and Gladio watches a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. Damn. He has to swallow and look away, remembering Ignis shuddering and moaning underneath him as he took Gladio’s dick.  
  
_Get a grip_ , he tells himself. _You have a job to do here. Quit thinking about fucking him._  
  
They take the left fork when they reach it, and just as Ignis said, the path winds through a copse of young trees. Gladio can see two more big, red-brick building looming up ahead. Maybe one of their targets is hiding in either of those buildings. Then again, maybe not. They could be anywhere. He wonders if they’re being watched right now. Gladio can’t say for sure. The sunlight glances off the windows, obscuring anyone who might be gazing down at them through the glass.  
  
Gladio slows his pace, tapping Ignis on the arm. “We should talk about this. Don’t think it’s a good idea to go strolling through there without a plan.”  
  
“What do you recommend?” Ignis asks, folding his arms as he looks at Gladio, but his tone suggests he doesn’t really give a fuck what Gladio has to say.  
  
“We could take cover behind that,” Gladio says, pointing to a little log house just beyond the treeline. It’s probably a maintenance shack of some kind. “We can go around back—”  
  
“Yes, brilliant plan, Gladio,” Ignis says sourly. “That would leave us wide open to an attack from the left. Or did you forget that the buildings on both sides of the path are enemy territory?”  
  
“You got a better idea?”  
  
“Not at present, but I don’t imagine it would take much to—”  
  
Bright green paint explodes on the tree trunk about a foot to Ignis’s left. Ignis looks at it, stunned. Gladio grabs him and shoves him toward the maintenance shack, ducking his head as he hears the pop of a paintball gun firing. He doesn’t stop to see where the paintballs are landing. He herds Ignis down the path toward a cluster of outbuildings maybe seventy yards away. It ain’t where they’re supposed to be going, but it’ll give them cover until they can figure out what to do about the situation. Gladio’s sprinting, his blood pounding in his ears.  
  
“Here!” he shouts, skidding to a stop outside a single-storey concrete building and ducking down. He pulls himself through the open doorway and tugs Ignis in with him, slamming it closed again behind them. Breathing hard, he sags against it, taking in their surroundings as his eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the narrow windows near the ceiling.  
  
It’s dusty inside. Stacks of empty pallets line the wall next to the door, with a few more littered around the space. There are dozens of cans of paint and turpentine stacked in a shelving unit on the far side of the room. The place smells stale, like no one’s been in here in years. Gladio tries the light switch, but the single bulb overhead remains dormant.  
  
Great.  
  
“We should be safe in here for now,” Ignis says as he hoists himself up on a stack of pallets to peer out the window. “But we’d best figure out where that shot was fired from. Did you happen to notice?”  
  
“I was too busy running,” Gladio says.  
  
“As was I,” Ignis says. Their eyes meet, and they both start to laugh, rueful and breathless. “Well, I suppose that’s one good way to get the adrenaline pumping.”  
  
Gladio runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Let’s just wait here for a few minutes. With any luck, they’ll think we’ve moved on. Then we can sneak out and get to our safehouse.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
Ignis steps down from the stack of pallets and spreads the map out on top of it, bending to pore over their options. Gladio joins him. Standing so close, he can feel the warmth radiating off Ignis’s skin, can smell his sweat and cedar aftershave. It’d be real easy to pin him against the pallets and trail kisses down his throat until he’s putty in Gladio’s hands. Gladio’s aching to do it. But instead he gives himself a little shake and forces himself to look at the map.  
  
“Our safehouse isn’t far,” Ignis says, drawing a line on the paper between their general area and the X marked on the map. “If we make a run for it, using these concrete barriers as cover, we should make it there with no trouble. What do you think?”  
  
Ignis turns his head to look at him then, his eyes widening when he finds Gladio standing right next to him. His gaze flits down to Gladio’s lips, hovering there for a heartbeat before it rises again, but he doesn’t draw away. Fuck, the line of his body is so tense it’s like he’s ready to snap, like he can’t decide if he wants to step away or move into Gladio’s arms. His proximity isn’t making things easy for Gladio, either. Every atom in his being is begging him to crush Ignis to his chest and kiss him, until he surrenders to what they both want.  
  
But he ain’t a caveman.  
  
He takes a step back, letting out a shaky breath. “Sounds like a plan.”  
  
Ignis nods, looking back down at the map, his neck and cheeks flushing. “Then let’s go, shall we?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Reluctantly, Gladio returns to the door and twists the knob, pulling hard. It doesn’t move. Fuck. So he tries pushing, leaning his shoulder into it in case it’s just stuck in the frame.  
  
The damn thing still doesn’t budge.  
  
“Shit,” he says softly.  
  
“What is it?” Ignis asks.  
  
“Door won’t open.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Ignis crosses the room in four strides and tries it for himself, turning the knob and pulling before he leans his shoulder into it, too, as if he has some kind of magic touch Gladio lacks. “There must be a way to get it open. Did you check the lock?”  
  
Gladio squats to investigate. There’s a twist lock in the knob, but when he turns it, it just spins uselessly, broken. He sighs and rests his head against the cool metal of the door.  
  
“Wonderful,” Ignis says from behind him. “My phone has no reception.” He returns to the pallets against the far wall and climbs onto them, raising his phone toward the window. “How delightful. We can’t even call for help.”  
  
Just in case, Gladio checks his phone, too, but there’s no signal. “Must be all the concrete,” he says.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Ignis asks.  
  
“Hey! Is anybody out there?” Gladio shouts as he hammers a fist against the door. If he yells loud and long enough, maybe someone will hear and come running to help them. Maybe the person who shot at them, or one of their other teammates. “Cor! Monica! Somebody!” He hits the door again, but succeeds only in hurting himself. Wincing, shaking his hand, he glances at Ignis. “See anyone outside?”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Ignis murmurs, still peering out the window.  
  
“ _Hey! We need some help over here!_ ” Gladio slams the door with his palms, for all the good it’s doing them. “Fuck.”  
  
“I think that’s quite enough, Gladio,” Ignis says as he gets down from the pallets. “No one’s coming. No one can hear. You may as well conserve your energy.”  
  
Gladio grunts in annoyance, but Ignis is right. No point breaking his hand or screaming himself hoarse if it’s not gonna get them rescued. Honestly, he’d laugh, if the situation wasn’t so damn shitty. They’re supposed to be working together to rescue a hostage. But here they are, trapped in an oversized industrial storage locker like a couple of chumps, and all because they couldn’t quit their bickering for two minutes.  
  
Crossing his arms, he leans against the door, staring down at his feet. Being stuck with Ignis isn’t so bad, but the poor ventilation is another matter. He can practically taste the dust in the room on his tongue, and it’s hotter than Ifrit’s ass crack at high noon. The sweat drips down his back, between his pecs, and when he lifts his arm to wipe it from his forehead, he catches a whiff of his pits. It almost knocks him out.  
  
“You were reading Vibianus,” Ignis says, out of the blue.  
  
Gladio glances at him and finds him bent over a stack of pallets, his face resting against his forearm. Even though he’s standing a few feet away, Gladio can see the sweat beading on his temple and the back of his neck. The back of his shirt is going dark with it. At least he’s not the only one struggling with the heat.  
  
“What?” he says.  
  
“Outside, when I first arrived,” Ignis says. He turns his head to look at Gladio. “You were reading Vibianus.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “So?”  
  
“I didn’t take you for the type to read poetry,” Ignis says. “Much less poetry written five hundred years ago.”  
  
“Gee, thanks,” Gladio says, but without venom. It isn’t exactly news that Ignis thinks he’s a brainless meathead.  
  
“Why Vibianus?” Ignis asks.  
  
“What’s it to you?”  
  
Ignis closes his eyes, sighing. “Well, never mind, then. I only thought we could make conversation while we’re locked in here.”  
  
“Sorry.” Shit. Now he feels like an asshole. Gladio swallows and glances away. If Ignis wants to know something about his past, he’s not gonna hold out on him. “My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid. After my bath, she’d get me into my pyjamas and cuddle up in bed with me. It was like a nightly tradition, y’know?” He smiles sadly, remembering how her hair would brush his cheek, smelling of nutmeg and cinnamon, as she cradled him in her arms. “Her favourite was verse eighteen.”  
  
“ _My love is like the kiss of water_ ,” Ignis recites. “ _Constant, quiet, eternal_.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s the one.”  
  
Their eyes meet from across the room, and Ignis offers him a soft, relenting smile. Gladio tries not to get too excited about it. But he kind of can’t help himself, because finally, Ignis ain’t looking at Gladio like he’s dog shit on his heel.  
  
“She liked verse fifty-nine, too,” he adds. “ _The night sky gave me stardust_. You know that one?”  
  
“It does ring a bell,” Ignis says, his smile turning into a smirk. “Vibianus is one of my favourite poets.”  
  
“Me too. Some of it’s nostalgia, though. Reminds me of my mom and all that.” Gladio licks his lips and looks down at his hands. Even a decade later, talking about his mom makes him feel like he lost her only yesterday. “She died when I was eleven. When I read the poems, I kinda feel like she’s still here with me.”  
  
There’s a moment of silence, and then Ignis takes a step toward him. “Gladio…”  
  
“But enough about that.” Gladio blinks hard, banishing his tears and his memories of his mom. The last thing he needs is to let Ignis see him cry. He’d never hear the end of it. Better to change the subject and stay focused on the here and now. “Can we get one of those windows open? I’m boiling.”  
  
Ignis shakes his head. “They won’t open. There’s no latch.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“I’m afraid so.”  
  
Groaning, Gladio rubs his sweaty fingertips into his eyes. At this point, his shirt’s so thoroughly soaked through that it’s like he pulled it right out of the washing machine and put it on. It’s starting to chafe, especially under his arms and over his ribs. If only he’d brought his duffel bag with him—then he could at least towel himself off.  
  
“Fuck it,” he says, and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt, pulling it right over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been beta'd, and indeed, has barely been edited. I struggled with this after receiving a mean-spirited comment on another work, so needless to say, neither my heart nor my confidence were entirely in this one. Nonetheless, I hope you guys find something enjoyable about it. Thanks, as always, for keeping up with our little story. We appreciate your comments/kudos so much!
> 
> Thanks also to Swordy for RPing the text exchange with me. Now, I turn it over to her for something far more enjoyable... ;)


	13. Ignis

It's so, _so_ hot.

Also, this is a complete and utter disaster.

Their only hope is rescue, but with the mission clearly being every team for themselves, the likelihood is no one will actually come looking for them until it's over and someone realises that they're nowhere to be found. So… in about six or seven hours then. Then there will be the inevitable fall out of this fiasco to deal with - the prince’s shield and his strategist as a team should be the obvious victors - not be the ones who need rescuing themselves. After a severe dressing down from Cor and the subsequent punishment for failure, they'll almost certainly never hear the end of it from their peers.

Excellent.

He confirms the windows won't open and turns back to see that Gladio has shed his t-shirt. _Six have mercy_ , it's impossible not to stare. He's about to make a comment about it being inappropriate to be disrobing when they have more pressing matters to attend to when he checks himself. They'll be lucky not to pass out from heat exhaustion at this rate, so berating Gladio for stripping off seems a little petty, despite how uncomfortable it makes him.

Still, he can't help observing the swell and dip of Gladio’s well-muscled body as he uses the t-shirt to wipe himself down before flinging it away in disgust. And then Gladio turns and catches him red-handed - although red-faced might technically be more accurate. Quickly, he turns his attention to the door, which is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. He moves over to it, pressing his hands flat against the impenetrable steel in frustration.

“Are you sure we can't prise this open?”

When Gladio doesn't reply, he has little choice but to turn around to see why. Gladio holds his gaze for a moment too long before he nods and comes to join him at the door. As an attempt to distract from Gladio's nakedness it's a disaster, because now Gladio is standing right next to him, making his undressed body even harder to ignore.

With him comes the musky aroma of perspiration and it's enough to send all rational thought scattering. There's something completely intoxicating about him that he can't recall feeling for another man, let alone one he's as apparently incompatible with as Gladio. The other man invades his thoughts with alarming frequency, despite his best efforts to distract himself with work. And it's irritating to say the least, when every other aspect of his life he's able to control so carefully, that he can't manage this one simple thing.

Gladio bends down to examine the lock again, leaving Ignis with the view of his back and his partially completed tattoo. The outline is done, but the feathers that cover the lower part of his torso are awaiting the needle once again. He admires Gladio's dedication to what is evidently a long and painful process.

As far as he's aware, tattoos aren't uncommon amongst the Crownsguard, but the designs he's seen are rarely as extensive as the one Gladio has chosen - typically they choose the Lucian royal crest as a badge of their allegiance. No, Gladio's clearly has a more personal meaning…

“And as the eagle soars o’er the mountain, my love will carry you always…” he says quietly to himself, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Gladio looks up sharply at this quoting of Vibianus. Belatedly, Ignis realises his hand is outstretched, as if he had meant to touch the semi-completed design. He steps back, curling his fingers and crossing his arms across his chest, meeting Gladio’s gaze guiltily.

“Sorry.”

“My mom used to say that to me and Iris all the time,” Gladio says, evidently choosing to ignore both the apology and the reason for it.

“It’s a beautiful passage.”

“Yeah,” Gladio replies, then after a moment he gives a lopsided smile. “I’m not sure she’d approve of the tattoo though.”

“Really? I like it,” he says before his brain can engage and stop him from doing things that make him seem even more foolish. Gladio laughs softly, which makes him feel ridiculously self-conscious. He casts around desperately for a safer topic.

“No luck with the door then?” _Gods help him, talk about pathetic._

“Nah,” Gladio answers, standing up and booting the offending item for good measure. “It’s definitely fucked.”

He shoots Gladio a quick glare for the turn of phrase, but the answering look is one of amused confusion. Maybe Gladio wasn’t intending to be suggestive after all. Maybe the heat is doing strange things to his brain...

“Did you tell your friends?” he blurts out suddenly.

 _Definitely_ doing strange things then.

“What?”

“About us. About what we did. Did you tell them?”

Gladio studies him for a moment, apparently weighing things up. The conclusion evidently isn't favourable, given by the frown that follows. Gladio shakes his head.

“Of course I didn't, because despite what you think, I don't kiss and tell. Why've you got such a low fuckin’ opinion of me, Ignis?”

He's about to baulk at the use of the name ‘Iggy’ when he realises that Gladio hasn't actually used it this time. Something twists inside him at the detached, impersonal tone.

“I don't, but you perpetuate this… this _meathead_ image that does you no credit.”

Gladio’s eyes narrow. “What? You think I should wander round quotin’ poetry and makin’ sure everyone knows how superior and smart I am, like you?”

He ignores the barb to fire back a shot of his own. “Tell me, how many of your Crownsguard friends know you like to read? The classics, I mean, not _Muscle Builder Monthly_.”

“I don’t see-”

“How _many_?”

Gladio rolls his eyes. “None, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? It's not like I really hide it though. You saw me reading today.”

“But nor do you advertise it either. I've known you in passing for a reasonable number of years and it was news to me until today. And when you say I act superior, can you say you've never been guilty of the same when it comes to physical fitness?” He gestures to himself. “I know you look at my physique and think I must be incapable of fighting. It's not all about strength, you know.”

Quickly, Gladio opens his mouth like he's about to argue the point, but then appears to think better of it. A sigh follows instead as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're probably right, and if I've ever made you feel that way then I'm sorry.”

The apology is unexpected, dousing the fires of his anger and leaving him unsure what to say next. Somehow they always seem to end up bickering; it really needs to stop.

“I'm sorry too,” he concedes with a shy smile. “I need to stop making such snap judgements; you're obviously a better man than I give you credit for.”

He's expecting Gladio to return the smile and he's surprised when he doesn't, because _finally_ it feels like they're making some headway. He's certainly not expecting Gladio’s unhappy expression or the resigned shrug he gives.

“What does it matter anyway? You still don't want me.”

And here they are, back to where they started. He studies Gladio as they face each other across their dusty concrete prison. Despite the heat and the tension and the weight of royal responsibilities that sit upon his shoulders like an unbearably heavy mantle, nothing could be further from the truth. Before he realises what he's doing, he's crossed the room in several long strides. He catches Gladio’s look of surprise a split second before he smashes their mouths together, his hands gripping Gladio’s face to anchor him into the kiss.

Gladio yields instantly, allowing himself to be herded backwards, the journey ending with a jolt when his back hits the wall. It's arousing to have the larger man at his mercy, and when his tongue pushes inside the wet warmth of Gladio’s mouth, there's no attempt to push back. His left hand reaches up to grab the hair on the top of Gladio’s head. He grasps a handful and yanks on it hard, pulling Gladio’s head down to one side. The action displaces his mouth, which he moves to the soft flesh of Gladio's exposed neck, now in perfect position.

Gladio moans loudly as first lips and then teeth meet skin. It'll almost certainly bruise, but it's Gladio who'll have to field any awkward questions, not him, so he carries on marking the other man possessively.

“ _Gods_ , Iggy….” Gladio groans.

“Shut up.”

Where this is coming from, he's no idea. Admittedly, he's no shrinking violet in the bedroom, despite perhaps an appearance to the contrary, but he's never normally so _aggressive_. There's just something with this whole situation - Gladio has this… this _hold_ over him that makes him act so out of character; now he needs to know if the reverse is true. He opens his eyes to stare at Gladio’s closed ones, the man’s lips parted in a silent cry. He bites down carefully on Gladio’s throat, the man’s resulting grimace making his erection twitch. When he pulls back abruptly Gladio opens his eyes. The urge to keep control of the situation and judge if Gladio wants him as badly flares through him.

“Get on your knees,” he orders, his voice low. “ _Now_.”

Frankly, he's expecting a refusal - he doubts Gladio ever plays a more submissive role in his sexual encounters - so he's unprepared when the other man quickly drops to the floor, like he's just been given an order by the king himself.

Gladio’s large hands move up his legs, settling finally on his hips. He inhales sharply as Gladio’s breath ghosts across the bulge in his sweat pants, warming the cloth against his sensitive flesh. When Gladio leans forward, allowing his lips to graze the same spot - _gods_ \- it's almost too much. He braces himself against the wall as calloused fingers then scrabble to find the waistband of his pants, gaining purchase and then pulling them down until they stop at his knees.

Trapped in this airless room, he leans forward so that he can rest his head against the concrete, a brief respite from the stifling heat. He glances down and sees a bead of sweat on Gladio's back, cutting a path across muscles and unfinished ink. Before he can reach out and touch it, Gladio distracts him by pulling down his underwear, freeing his erection and causing him to almost groan with relief. He straightens his arms again, moving back into his initial position to give Gladio more room to work.

He’s intending to close his eyes, but it’s impossible tear his gaze away from the sight of Gladio reaching for his length, encircling it firmly with his thumb and first finger at the base to hold it steady. Then Gladio’s mouth is there, and… at that point he's pretty sure he stops breathing.

His eyes snap shut involuntarily as he tilts his head up to the ceiling. He has to remind his arms to stay braced or he'll either fall forward and smash his teeth against the wall or collapse on top of Gladio. It makes no sense that this is undoing him so rapidly - their last encounter consisted of full penetrative sex, after all. Somehow though, having Gladio's mouth on him feels significantly more intimate.

Now he does groan as Gladio pulls back, only to slide his tongue firmly down the underside of his shaft, until it reaches the hairs nestling at the base. He flicks his tongue before repeating the action.

“Gladio…”

Gladio’s eyes flick upward, holding his gaze. Something teasing dances within the amber as the other man pauses, mouth open, swollen cock resting against his bottom lip. Another flick of the tongue sends a jolt of electricity to Ignis’s groin and his fingers curl against the concrete. He desperately wants to be back inside the warm wetness and his hips cant forwards as he chases that heat.

“You want it?” Gladio asks, his voice muffled as his lips close carefully against the intrusion in his mouth.

“Oh gods, _yes_ ,” he replies breathlessly.

Gladio makes a sound then - it's like a huff of amusement - which instantly snaps him from his stupor. He was supposed to be in charge here, and yet Gladio has somehow manoeuvred himself into the position as the one calling the shots, once again. Incensed by this power shift, he adjusts his stance to let go of the wall, his hands moving to cup Gladio’s head, long fingers splayed on each side. There's a flicker of something unreadable in Gladio’s expression - momentary shock or surprise - as he starts to thrust.

And it's _glorious_.

Each pump of his hips takes him a little deeper until he's almost hitting the back of Gladio’s throat. He's holding Gladio’s head so tightly, yet the other man doesn’t make any attempt to escape from his iron grip. At one point Gladio reaches up to cup his bare behind, fingers tantalisingly close to his entrance. He experiences a flash of guilt - presumably it's an attempt to control the frenetic pace - but no. If anything, Gladio encourages more speed, taking his cock even deeper into his mouth. The heat and the pressure are almost too much. How Gladio isn't choking is beyond him.

He realises he won't last long like this, but just as that thought enters his head, Gladio takes one hand and starts to scratch along the underside of his balls and the thought disappears along with his ability to hold off his orgasm.

“Ah… ah, _Gladio_ …”

He comes, _hard_ , but Gladio holds him fast, swallowing everything until he's spent. His now over-sensitive cock twitches inside Gladio’s mouth as he breathes his way through the aftershocks, his hands seeking out the wall to lean against. After a moment, Gladio draws back, slowly, allowing his softening member to slip from his lips. Horribly self-conscious, he pulls up his underwear and sweatpants quickly as Gladio sits back on his haunches and swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. They're both sweating hard.

“I'm sorry,” he gasps, stepping away until his back is against the opposite wall.

Gladio fixes him with a stare. “Why? What you sorry for?”

“Because…. Because I had no right to do that.”

“No _right_?” Gladio echoes, his features pulled into a deep frown as he shakes his head. “I dunno, Ignis; for a smart guy, you can be _really_ fuckin’ dumb sometimes.”

Neither of them speak for a long time. All of a sudden Gladio laughs, but there's a dark edge to it.

“This must be killin’ you being locked in here. If we hadn't been, you'd have been out that door so fast, just like how you couldn't wait to kick me out the last time.”

The insult stings, but to refute it would be a lie. His legs are like jelly, so he admits defeat and sinks to the ground. Gods, he needs some water, Gladio probably does too. Surely, someone must have noticed that they're missing by now. They sit opposite each other in silence for what feels like an age.

When Gladio speaks again, his voice is softer - more resigned than angry.

“I swear, Iggy. I've never met anyone regret stuff as fast as you do. You ain't exactly good for a guy’s self esteem, you know.”

“I'm sorry,” he replies, genuinely remorseful because it's clear Gladio isn't just saying it for effect. “I don't know why this keeps happening.”

He pushes his hands through his sweat-soaked hair, scooping it back off his face, looking up suddenly at the sound of movement as Gladio stands and crosses the room. He comes to sit down on the dusty floor so that they're side by side. Despite the proximity, it doesn't feel awkward or strained.

He's watching the dust motes dance in the air when Gladio says, “So much for _never ever again_ , huh?”

“Gladio…” he sighs, too hot and weary to do this now.

Gladio raises his hands in placation; there's no heat to his words, so maybe he's not trying to start a fight. “I'm just sayin’, Iggy. Instead of gettin’ all bent out of shape about it, why don't you just consider the idea that there's something between us.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but Gladio quickly adds, “I'm not talkin’ about a hearts an’ flowers relationship - _shit_ , neither of us have time for that an’ it's clear that there's plenty of stuff that we’ll probably never see eye to eye about - I just mean, it'd be cool to hook up from time to time without all the guilt and recriminations after.”

“You mean like a ‘friends with benefits’ type arrangement?”

Gladio shrugs. “I don't think it sounds like the worst idea in the world.”

It doesn't, to be fair. These experiences with Gladio, as wrought with regret as he's felt after them, have reminded him that he’s gone too long without sex. The idea that he might go another year with his sex life as barren as a dry river bed feels unthinkable now, because his own hand is a poor substitute for what they've done together. He thinks of Eirene, wise to a fault, during their late night phone call, querying whether it was as much of a mistake as he believed it to be. Maybe… maybe he jumped the gun a little.

But in some respects it probably is still a terrible idea given that Regis and Clarus and their royal duties and obligations to Noct haven't magically gone away. But conversely some no strings sex might be just what he needs to help manage the weight of all these responsibilities. Gladio’s having suggested it indicates that he might be looking for same; the additional benefit being that there will be no misunderstandings about what this is. They both understand that it can go no further, nor do they want it to. It's all about satisfying their physical desires, without the complication of an emotional relationship. It sounds… well, _perfect_.

He glances over at Gladio to see the other man smiling.

“What?”

Gladio shakes his head, evidently still amused. “It's nothin’.”

“It's not ‘nothing’, _clearly_.”

“I was just thinking about you saying _friends with benefits_. Does that mean you wanna be buddies too? Because you've gotta be friends to be friends with benefits.”

He realises Gladio is teasing him and elbows him lightly in the ribs. “Don't push your luck, Gladiolus.”

But Gladio evidently isn't done. “Can you think of a better term? Acquaintances with extras?”

“Gladio…”

“Colleagues with perks?”

“Now you're just being ridiculous.”

Gladio grins.

“Wouldn't it be the weirdest thing if we actually turned out to be friends?”

“Quite possibly,” he replies dryly.

The silence they lapse into is comfortable now. It continues for while until Gladio wipes a hand across his forehead and gives a low growl.

“Dammit. Why'd it have to be so hot in here?”

He sighs and takes his glasses off to massage his eyes. It's fair to say he's definitely felt better. “Mmm, it is unpleasant.”

“You feelin’ okay?” Gladio asks, looking at him sharply. “Overheating can be serious.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Yeah? Well why’ve you still got your t-shirt on, huh?”

Glasses back in place, he fixes Gladio with a withering look, to which the other man rolls his eyes and laughs.

“Don't flatter yourself, Iggy. If I wanted to see an amazing body, I'd be lookin’ for a mirror.”

He's about to reply, commenting on the enormity of the other man’s ego, when something catches his ear. He holds up his hand to stop Gladio saying anything while he listens and - yes - there it is again.

“Gladio, there's someone out there.”

Instantly, Gladio's expression morphs from amusement into something he presumably wears when he's on serious Crownsguard business, and he's scrambling for the door with impressive speed.

“Hey. _Hey_! We’re in here!”

On his feet too, he scales the pallets again to see if he can actually see anyone beyond their prison. He's about to report that he might have been mistaken, when he spies movement near one of the other outbuildings they passed in their haste to find cover.

“Gladio!”

Gladio redoubles his efforts, hammering on the steel door with a force that will almost certainly hurt. Then, thank the Six, actual _people_ come into view. He hears someone shout _we’ve found them_ , and he sags onto the pallets in relief.

It takes a while to get them out. The door holds stubbornly until Cor arrives and instructs them to stand well back whilst he deals with it. It's good advice, as the previously impenetrable barrier buckles with a loud screech of twisting metal and then clatters to the floor, kicking up clouds of dust.

They both hurry out into the blessed fresh air, gulping lungfuls of it between wracking coughs. He collapses on the ground to find Gladio doing the same beside him. Dimly, he's aware of someone pushing a bottle of water into his hands and guiding it toward his mouth. He drinks and drinks until the water is gone.

“Are you okay, boys?” Cor asks, staring down at them both with that frustratingly neutral expression.

“We are,” he answers at the same time as Gladio says, “Yeah.”

“Good,” Cor says, gesturing at one of the glaives to give them more water. “But you're still going straight to medical, to be on the safe side.”

It's not difficult to see why the marshal wants them to be checked over. They both look like hell covered in grime and sweat, and a quick check of the temperature inside the concrete building has obviously led Cor to question their physical status.

“Has the exercise finished already?” he asks, looking up from where he's sitting in the road.

“Not yet.”

“So how come you came to find us?” Gladio questions, frowning.

“We had trackers on the equipment you were supposed to retrieve from your safe house. When it hadn't moved an hour after you should have collected it, we thought something might be wrong so we started a search.”

He glances over at Gladio. “Well, we’re glad you did.”

Gladio makes a noise of agreement as he gets on his feet and dusts himself down as best he can.

“Okay, well let's get to medical so we can get back out there.”

Frankly, it’s the _last_ thing he feels like doing but, like Gladio, as Noct’s shield and advisor it's a point of pride for them both. He stands and makes a concerted effort to remove some of the dust and dirt, before giving the marshal his attention in the hope that he will appear equally as determined.

“Well, whilst I commend your tenacity to overcome this setback, you're still disqualified. I'll look forward to seeing you in the gym first thing in the morning,” Cor says, his tone suggesting that he's deriving some sort of enjoyment out of this fiasco. It might be the heat, but Ignis fancies he can detect a hint of a smile on the marshal’s face too as he continues speaking.

“But given your apparent issues with each other, maybe being locked up together for a couple of hours gave you the opportunity to actually work some stuff out. Neither of you are dead at any rate, so I'd like to believe that you still managed to get _something_ out of the whole experience.”

It's impossible to ignore the glance Gladio shoots him - a private look, devilry sparking within the amber, despite his apparent nonchalance and the even tone of his voice when he speaks.

“I think so,” Gladio replies.

Cor nods, seemingly satisfied with this. “Ignis?”

He drags his eyes from Gladio to the marshal, praying that he can keep his own expression similarly impassive.

“I believe Gladiolus is correct. As unfortunate as it was to have been trapped in this way, I believe it has allowed us to reach an understanding which we both find agreeable.”

Cor studies him for a moment before his gaze travels back to Gladio. Gladio simply shrugs and offers that lopsided smile that is as magnetic as it is infuriating.

“Uh yeah... what he said.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - squarely (ha!) the fault of Gladnis Week and Episode Ignis. I really enjoyed writing this chapter (even though I'm a bit nervous as the hot stuff is clearly more Nix's forté than mine). I hope people enjoy reading it. :) 
> 
> Comments will be the perfect Christmas present if you don't mind leaving one! So on that note, Merry Christmas everyone!!


	14. Gladio

“I don’t care what you think, Leonis, we have to discuss this first. Introducing armoured uniforms into the Crownsguard is no small expense.”  
  
Gladio stifles a yawn against his fist and checks the time on his phone. It’s almost lunch, and he’s been in this goddamn meeting for nearly three hours—three hours of listening to Kingsglaive and Crownsguard business he already knows about. On top of that, he was up at five for his early morning punishment with Cor and Monica, so he’s dying for lunch and a power nap.   
  
Not that it’s all bad. Some gruelling physical activity is a price he’s glad to pay, now that Ignis has agreed to being friends with benefits.  
  
As for the meeting, he doesn’t really need to be here, anyway. They’ve already gotten the important shit out of the way—updated security protocols for Noct’s birthday gala, and new senior appointments to the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive. The rest of it is stuff better left to his dad, Drautos, and Cor.  
  
From the looks of things, he ain’t the only one who needs a break. Across the table, Ignis keeps widening his eyes and blinking furiously, as if he’s having trouble keeping them open. Heh. As much as Gladio’s dying for sleep, Ignis is probably desperate for a coffee. It’s been a few hours since his last brew. He was there sweating through pushups and chin-ups and laps alongside Gladio, and then they barely had time to shower before they were expected back at the Citadel for this meeting.   
  
“It’s long overdue,” Cor says, glaring at Adamo, Insomnia’s finance minister and notorious penny-pinching blowhard. “Our forces are—”  
  
“We’re looking at five hundred gil per member of the Crownsguard, _at minimum_ ,” Adamo interrupts.   
  
Sighing, his dad raises a hand for silence. “We understand that, but I’ve reviewed the budget myself, and if we trim the fat in some areas—”  
  
Adamo bristles. “Trim the fat, Clarus? What exactly are you trying to suggest?”  
  
 _Shiva, just put me out of my fucking misery._  
  
Gladio glances across the table and catches Ignis rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, his glasses knocked up to his forehead. He’s got a notebook open in front of him, but Gladio doubts he’s paying much attention to the conversation. He hasn’t picked up his pen in at least ten minutes. Well, maybe Gladio can make the meeting a little more interesting for them both.  
  
Slowly, he eases his phone into his lap under the table and composes a text.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:25 AM):** hey.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:25 AM):** i'm bored as fuck.  
  
Ignis’s phone buzzes on the table top. He sees Ignis look down at it and frown, then glance up at Gladio. Gladio nods at him, and with a barely-contained sigh, Ignis types out a response.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:26 AM):** You SHOULD be concentrating. This is Crownsguard business.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:26 AM):** yeah but i don't really care about the new uniforms. my opinion on ‘em doesn't matter. don't think we should have to sit here and listen to it.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:27 AM):** at least i have a nice view.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:28 AM):** I'm not sure what you mean.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:28 AM):** you look good today.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:28 AM):** really good.  
  
Ignis writes something in his notebook before he returns to his phone. The grooves between his eyebrows deepen, and he doesn’t even spare Gladio a withering look before he responds.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:30 AM):** Whilst the compliment is appreciated, I believe we should both be paying attention. The subject matter may be tedious, but it still concerns us.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:30 AM):** we can get the minutes after the meeting.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:31 AM):** you're just really distracting every time you take a drink of water, you know that?  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:32 AM):** it makes me wanna kiss you.  
  
Even from across the table, Gladio sees the heat rise to Ignis’s cheeks.   
  
**Ignis (08/24, 11:33 AM):** Gladio! I'm not sure now's the time….  
  
It probably isn’t, not when his dad’s arguing with Adamo about the budget ten feet away, but it ain’t like he knows what they’re saying to each other.   
  
**Gladiolus (08/24, 11:33 AM):** it's never the right time for you.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:34 AM):** maybe you should just relax for once. no one's paying any attention to us.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:35 AM):** That's not strictly true.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:35 AM):** I've been watching you closely. Do you even realize what you do with your pen?  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:36 AM):** no. tell me.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:36 AM):** It borders on indecent.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:37 AM):** is it making you think about what I did to you in that warehouse the other day?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:38 AM):** I can't recall what happened.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:38 AM):** Care to enlighten me?  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:39 AM):** i got on my knees and sucked your dick. you seemed to like it at the time.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:39 AM):** i jerked off thinking about it last night.  
  
Gladio bites his lip, remembering the way the muscles in Ignis’s thighs trembled under his hands, and how Ignis held Gladio’s head to better fuck his mouth. Yeah, he came hard from the memory of that alone.   
  
**Ignis (08/24, 11:40 AM):** I think you suited being on your knees. I've thought of it a few times over the last few days as well.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:40 AM):** yeah? you wanna tell me about it?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:40 AM):** I have an excellent memory for detail. I've enjoyed reliving the experience, particularly in the bedroom (since I know that's what you're getting at).  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:41 AM):** i can't stop thinking about what you tasted like.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:41 AM):** what was your favourite part?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:41 AM):** I believe it's fair to say your gag reflex is to be commended.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:42 AM):** c'mon, iggy, you gotta give me something more to work with.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:42 AM):** what do you want to do to me?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:42 AM):** Drautos keeps looking over at you. You're not exactly being subtle with your phone.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:42 AM):** fuck  
  
Gladio looks up and catches Drautos glaring at him from the other end of the table, eyes dark under heavy brows. Shifting uncomfortably, Gladio tucks the phone between his thighs. He tries to look interested in the pie charts Adamo is gesturing at on the big screen at the end of the room, even ignoring the phone when it buzzes, until Drautos finally folds his arms and turns his glare on Adamo.  
  
Gladio counts to ten before he looks at his messages again.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:44 AM):** You know that pommel horse in the gym?  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:46 AM):** yeah. what about it?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:46 AM): I** 'd like to bend you over it and pound you until you can't walk straight. I believe that would be a satisfying way to pass the time.  
  
 _Astrals._ Gladio squirms in his seat, his dick stiffening in his pants as he imagines Ignis holding him down and taking what he wants. When he glances over, Ignis is writing in his notebook again, face neutral, like the only thing in the world he’s concerned about is the Crownsguard’s budget breakdown.   
  
**Gladiolus (08/24, 11:47 AM):** fuck, iggy. i'd like that too.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:47 AM):** Same question to you. I'm all ears.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:48 AM):** shit. there are a million things i wanna do.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:48 AM):** You must have some particular favourites?  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:48 AM):** right now, i want to push you up against the wall in the room next door and fuck you so hard half the citadel will know i made you mine.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:49 AM):** but i guess you aren't very vocal, are you?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:49 AM):** It depends how good you are.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:49 AM):** you saying I need to up my game?  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:50 AM):** Is there anything you don't view as a challenge?   
  
**Ignis (08/24, 11:51 AM):** In the interests of protecting your fragile ego, no, I'm not particularly vocal in the bedroom.  
  
Gladio rolls his eyes. Leave it to Ignis to turn the most innocent of statements into a dispute. _Fragile ego, my ass…_  
  
“We’ve been debating this for a half hour, Minister, yet we’ve gotten nowhere,” his dad says wearily, rubbing his temple as he sits on the edge of the meeting table. “Perhaps a break is in order. A good stretch and some refreshments might help clear our minds. Twenty minutes, gentlemen?”  
  
A murmur of assent goes around the room. Gladio turns to his phone and shoots off one last message to Ignis.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:51 AM):** meet me next door in two minutes. i wanna try something.  
  
 **Ignis (08/24, 11:51 AM):** Fine. But after that, you can at least attempt to feign interest in what they're discussing.  
  
 **Gladiolus (08/24, 11:51 AM):** sure.  
  
They exchange another look before Gladio slips out of his chair and out into the hall. The light that spills through the window the end of the corridor gleams off the marble floors. It’s cooler here, and quieter. A clerk passes him, heels clicking, her nose buried in an open folder she’s carrying. She glances up only once, as other members of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive start to file out of the room behind him, their voices breaking the peace.   
  
Gladio puts his phone to his ear, as if he’s making a phone call, and darts into the next room. With the door closed, it muffles the sounds from outside, though he can still hear the murmur of voices as they retreat down the hall, likely toward the bathroom, courtyard, or kitchens. Perfect. That’ll give him and Iggy enough time to get off and return to the meeting room before anyone comes looking for them.  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Gladio leans against the wall next to the door to wait. The possibility that Ignis won’t come never once enters his mind. Despite his veneer of propriety, Ignis obviously wants Gladio as much as Gladio wants him. He made that clear the minute he ordered Gladio to his knees and fucked his face.   
  
It should’ve ticked him off. As a rule, he doesn’t let people push him around. But when Ignis did it, it gave him a thrill—a thrill that repeats itself every time he thinks about Ignis shooting his load in Gladio’s mouth.  
  
Sure enough, the door whispers open a minute later, and Ignis appears, his phone in hand. He gives it a couple of taps before he glances up, his gaze settling on Gladio. Six, he’s stupidly good-looking, from his unblemished skin to the tailored clothes that accentuate his narrow waist and the tight curve of his ass. The desire Gladio feels for him is a never-ending ache.  
  
“Gladio,” Ignis says as he approaches, tucking his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, “we shouldn’t—”  
  
Gladio grabs him by the back of the neck, fingers slipping into soft, thick hair, and kisses him. There’s a split second where Ignis goes stiff, like he’s gonna lecture Gladio for wanting some action in the middle of Crownsguard business, but he just as soon relents, breathing out a soft, relieved groan as his mouth opens for Gladio’s tongue. Fisting his hands in the back of Ignis’s suit jacket, Gladio tugs him closer, kisses him deeper, closing his eyes as he savours the wet slide of Ignis’s tongue against his own.  
  
The muscles of his abs twitch when warm hands find their way under the hem of his t-shirt, lifting the fabric. Ignis’s fingertips graze, teasingly light, over his skin.  
  
“Don’t have a lot of time,” Gladio murmurs, and presses another kiss to Ignis’s lips. “Should probably keep our clothes on.”  
  
“Indeed,” Ignis agrees. His hand dips between Gladio’s legs to cup his erection through his jeans. “Whatever we do about this will have to be quick.”   
  
“Yeah.” Gladio lets his head fall back against the wall, letting out a shaky breath. “We’ve got fifteen minutes until the meeting starts again.”  
  
Ignis strokes his thumb over the head of Gladio’s cock. “Perhaps we should postpone whatever you have planned for this little rendezvous to a more convenient time.”  
  
Gladio frowns, his head clouded with desire. “What?”  
  
“The time constraint, Gladio.” The delicious friction between his legs vanishes, and Gladio opens his eyes to find Ignis worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “On top of that, your father and the Marshal are still debating with Adamo next door. This is hardly the time or the place—”  
  
“You’re seriously gonna do this after grabbing my dick?”  
  
Ignis looks up at him sharply. “I merely object to the venue. We could get caught.”  
  
“You sure as hell didn’t object to the venue when you shoved your cock down my throat the other day,” Gladio growls, bitterly satisfied by the way Ignis’s lips part and eyes widen at the words. “Cor could’ve walked in at any time.”  
  
“That was different. We were isolated. We would have heard someone coming.”  
  
“Yeah, and if anyone’s out in the hall, we’ll hear them, too.” Gladio takes Ignis’s hand and tugs him in. “I’ll get you off fast. Promise.”  
  
Any lingering uncertainty on Ignis’s face melts away when Gladio kisses the inside of his wrist. The breath comes out of him in a rush. He cups Gladio’s face and plants a response on his lips, pushing Gladio back against the wall. Groaning, Gladio grabs his ass, one cheek in each hand, and pulls Ignis close, gratified when he feels a half-hard dick jutting against his hip bone. This ain’t the first time they’ve done this, but it’s still almost surreal that Ignis wants this. Wants _him_.  
  
There’s an aggression to the way Ignis kisses him. Gladio thought he’d taste like coffee, but Ignis’s mouth gives him only a clean heat, as irresistible as the fingers that tease his nipples through his t-shirt. Instead of voicing his appreciation, Gladio thrusts against him, squeezing his ass again.   
  
They pull apart with a wet sound, a filament of saliva joining their lips before it breaks.  
  
“Can I fuck you?” Gladio asks.  
  
Ignis hesitates, checking his watch. “Do you have a condom?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Gladio digs in his back pocket for his wallet. He opens it and extracts the condom and packet of lube he stashed in there yesterday morning, not because he was planning for this—not exactly—but because he likes to be prepared for any possibility. Ignis ain’t exactly predictable. He’s hot one minute, then cold the next.   
  
“Very well,” Ignis says as Gladio holds them up. “But make it quick. I’ll stop you if we run out of time.”  
  
“I know, I know.” Gladio rips open the packet of lube, smearing it on his fingers. “Turn around,” he commands. “Get your pants around your knees and your hands on the wall.”  
  
Obediently, Ignis undoes his button and tugs down his fly, letting his pants drop to his thighs. Gladio barely has time to drink in the sight of his black boxer briefs before Ignis hooks his thumbs into the band and tugs them down to join the pants. Not that he’s complaining. The sight of Ignis’s cock, fully stiff, greets him, and that’s a hell of a lot better than Ignis in any kind of underwear.  
  
Ignis turns and braces his hands on the wall, standing just far enough from it that there’s a bend to his waist. They ain’t got time to lose, so Gladio parts his cheeks and teases his hole with the slick pad of his index finger. When Ignis spreads his legs a little wider, like an invitation, he pushes it inside. The muscles of Ignis’s ass clench around the digit for a couple of seconds before they relax, letting Gladio work the rest of his finger in.  
  
Fuck, it’s too familiar. He’s aching to get his cock in there. With his free hand, he unzips his own pants, giving his boner room to breathe.  
  
“You okay?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.” Ignis glances at him over his shoulder. “Just hurry. We reconvene in…” He takes his left hand off the wall to check his watch. “…ten minutes.”  
  
Gladio slides a second finger inside, opening him up. “I am hurrying.”  
  
“I’m half convinced you _want_ someone to find us in a compromising situation.”  
  
“Yeah?” Gladio curls his fingers, looking for Ignis’s prostate, and he’s gratified when Ignis lets out a gasp. “You seriously think I want my dad to walk in on us with my dick in your ass?”  
  
“Don’t ask me to fathom your thought processes.”  
  
“Look, I didn’t invite you here to talk,” Gladio says as he adds a third finger, reaching around with his free hand to give Ignis’s dick some attention. “So put a sock in it.”  
  
“Of course not. You invited me here to bend me over like some sort of caveman. It makes me wonder why I ever agreed to this arrangement of ours.”  
  
Gladio rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you aren't enjoying it. You ready yet?”  
  
“Yes, yes, go on,” Ignis says impatiently.  
  
Gladio eases his fingers out, careful not to hurt him, and pushes the band of his underwear down just enough to expose his cock. Ignis hasn’t even touched him yet, not really, but he’s already hard as steel, ready to go.  
  
He gives himself a perfunctory stroke before rolling on the condom and slicking himself up with lube. With one hand braced on Ignis’s shoulder, he guides the head of his dick into him. He has to fight with himself not to go balls deep with one smooth thrust, pausing for a second to let Ignis adjust. As it is, he’s already wound tight. Gladio can feel the muscles in his back tensing under his palm.  
  
“You know, one of these days, I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow,” Gladio says as he sinks in a little further, revelling in the small cry Ignis fails to bite back. “I’m gonna let you feel every last inch of me, and then we’ll see how smart your mouth is. How does that sound?”  
  
“As always,” Ignis says, voice strained, “it sounds like you’re all talk.”  
  
Gladio places a hand on Ignis’s taut belly, just below his navel, and eases the rest of the way inside, holding Ignis’s ass flush against his pelvis. “Sometimes I think you press my buttons on purpose,” he says.  
  
“Don’t…” The breath comes shuddering out of Ignis as Gladio rolls his hips back, then in, fucking him with a couple of slow, shallow thrusts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”  
  
“I think you’re all talk,” Gladio says. “Maybe you’re the one who wants to get pounded over a pommel horse. Is that what you want, Iggy? You want me to fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for the rest of the week?”  
  
Ignis gives a grunt in answer, dropping his head between his arms. Satisfied, Gladio slides his hand down to grasp Ignis’s cock, giving it a firm stroke from root to tip, rubbing his thumb over the wet head. For all his taunting, he does want to take his time with Ignis. These random encounters are great and all, but they don’t give him the chance to explore Ignis’s body. If he could, he’d keep Ignis in bed all day—kiss every inch of his skin and go down on him, bringing him to the brink over and over, until he was begging for his orgasm.   
  
He just doesn’t think Ignis would let him.   
  
Adjusting his grip, Gladio gathers precome in his palm and jerks Ignis a little faster, matching the pace of his hips. He isn’t fucking him hard enough for the telltale slap of skin on skin; he keeps his thrusts fast and shallow, his free hand resting on Ignis’s shoulder to hold him in place. It’s an efficient fuck. He ain’t looking to draw out their pleasure. He’s looking to make them both come as soon as possible.  
  
The sounds Ignis is starting to make tell him he’s on the right track. His harsh breaths have given way to little moans, and he can feel the muscles in Ignis’s ass cheeks clenching and trembling against his hips. Gladio gives him one hard, deep thrust, then another, almost lifting Ignis right off his feet. They’re enough to force a cry out of him.  
  
“Thought you didn’t want anyone to find us in a compromising situation,” Gladio says breathlessly, pausing to shift his stance, his hand still working Ignis’s cock.   
  
“If you’d be a little more gentle…”  
  
Ignis trails off, his head snapping up, like a rabbit that’s just noticed a predator stalking toward it through the grass. It takes Gladio a second to realize what his problem is, and then he freezes, too. There are voices out in the hall. They’re muffled, but they’re coming closer, and—shit, Gladio would know his dad’s voice anywhere. The other one sounds like Cor.  
  
He holds his breath, and so does Ignis, still quivering in his arms. They’re a hair’s breadth from getting busted. The thought of his dad and the goddamn Marshal walking in here and catching them like this makes his pulse gallop in his ears. But it ain’t wilting his boner. It ain’t compelling him to get his dick out of Ignis’s ass, or make himself decent. He’s too lust-addled—too thrilled by the possibility of discovery—to want to stop.  
  
Besides, it sounds like the voices have paused between this room and the one next door. Maybe they won’t come in here.  
  
Slowly, he pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside Ignis, and then he pushes back in, rocking Ignis forward. Ignis gasps. One of his hands curls into a fist against the wall. Gladio repeats the motion, waiting for Ignis to say something, to put his hand on Gladio’s wrist and tell him to stop. But Ignis just moans as Gladio strokes him, as Gladio fucks him, his voice a little too loud in the empty room.  
  
Shit.  
  
Gladio covers Ignis’s mouth with the hand that was holding his shoulder, muffling Ignis’s wordless sound of surprise. His breath comes hard and humid in Gladio’s palm. That just turns Gladio on all the more, sending a molten stab of heat into the pit of his belly. He indulges in another couple of slow, deep thrusts before he starts to build speed, keeping one ear out for the voices in the hall.  
  
He focuses on getting Ignis off, jerking his shaft in quick motions near the tip, putting pressure on the frenulum. The wet sound of skin on skin seems loud, too. It echoes off the walls that box them in, but there ain’t much he can do about that. He rubs the ball of his thumb over the head, smearing more precome, before he gets back to jerking. Ignis moves with him, rocking back and forth between Gladio’s hand and the dick in his ass. Between that and the way his breath’s shuddering, Gladio can tell he’s on the edge.   
  
“Come on, Iggy,” he growls into Ignis’s ear. “We don’t have all day.”  
  
Ignis moves one hand from the wall to cover Gladio’s own, squeezing it tighter around his cock. After two more sharp tugs, his body stiffens, arching against Gladio’s, his groan stifled by the hand over his mouth. Gladio fucks him through it, holding him as he trembles in the aftershocks. He forgets about the world around him—the Citadel, the meeting, his dad and Cor standing on the other side of the wall. The only things he’s aware of are the muscles clenching around his dick, and Ignis’s semen dripping between his fingers.   
  
With one final, deep thrust, he comes, burying his sweaty face in Ignis’s neck. Somehow, he manages to hold back the sound he was going to make, his hand slipping from Ignis’s mouth to grasp his waist instead. His hips pump a few more times as he rides out the end of his orgasm—and then he’s empty, draped bonelessly over Ignis’s back. The clothes he’s wearing feel too hot, the skin under them damp and sticky. He’s breathing like he just ran a mile.  
  
“We should get back,” Ignis murmurs.  
  
“Yeah.” Reluctantly, Gladio pulls out of him, glancing down at the spend on his hand. “You, uh… got any tissues?”  
  
“In the inside pocket of my jacket. Can you reach it?”  
  
“Can’t you?”  
  
“I’m afraid not.” Ignis holds up his hand. The palm is glistening, and there’s a little puddle of it on the floor by his feet. He must have caught it to stop it from shooting onto the wall.   
  
Gladio slides his clean hand into Ignis’s jacket, finding a travel-sized package of tissues exactly where Ignis said they would be. He pulls it out, and they hastily wipe off their hands, tie off the condom, and get their clothes back in order. A quick glance at his phone tells Gladio they only have two minutes to make it back to the next room before the meeting resumes.  
  
“Guess I’ll deal with this,” Gladio says, holding the condom between his thumb and index finger.  
  
“Yes. Of course.” Ignis looks down at the semen on the floor. “And I suppose I’ll clean this up. It will look less suspicious if we return separately, anyway.”  
  
Gladio laughs. “Suspicious? No one’s gonna notice if we go back together.”  
  
“Cor might. He knows we aren’t on the best terms.”  
  
“So? He’s not gonna think we’re fucking.”  
  
Ignis sighs in exasperation. “Just go, please, Gladio. I’m in no mood for arguments.”  
  
Gladio raises his hands in surrender. He doesn’t want to argue, either. It’ll just kill his buzz. So he slips back out into the hall, the condom hidden in his fist. The corridor is empty, and so is the bathroom when he gets there. He wraps the condom in a ream of paper towels before tossing it, then turns to the sink, raking a hand through his hair and splashing water on his face. He doesn’t _think_ he looks like he just got laid in a meeting room. If he looks a little disheveled, he can just say he went for a jog to wake himself up.  
  
When he returns to the meeting room, Ignis is already there, and so is everyone else. Gladio smiles at him as he takes his seat.  
  
But Ignis just raises an eyebrow and returns to his notebook. He doesn’t look at Gladio again.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for Swordy for RPing the text conversation with me! Apologies if there are any errors in here. I wrote and posted this very quickly. And thanks to everyone who's still reading. We're thrilled to have you on this journey with us!
> 
> Join us on Tumblr: @sauronix | @hellomynameisswordy


	15. Ignis

“Hey. _Hey_ , Specs? Are you even listening to me?”

Ignis blinks and finds Noct staring at him with no small amount of curiosity. They’re in his office, with the rays of the setting sun streaming through the blinds. He’s giving Noct some extra tuition on Accordian state affairs and evidently it’s not proving particularly stimulating for either of them.

“My apologies, Noct,” he replies briskly, moving the papers in his hands, like he’s looking for something in particular. “Where were we?”

Noct gives him that look - carefully assessing why Ignis is not quite himself, evidently trying to figure out if it’s anything he might be responsible for, presumably so he might be able to preempt the inevitable fallout. After a moment, Noct returns his gaze to the book in front of him. The fact that he doesn’t look entirely convinced that nothing's going on is disconcerting. When Noct glances up again, Ignis makes a go ahead gesture and doubles down on his efforts not to appear distracted.

“Uh, we were doing the history of Accordian marriage rituals and their relevance to... uh....” Noct makes a frustrated noise and slams the book shut. “Why'd I have to know this crap, huh?”

He frowns. “I hardly think the Accordians would view their time-honoured traditions as _crap_ , Noct.”

“You know what I’m saying. How will this help me be a good king, just because I know the maximum and minimum engagement periods for the Accordian gentry?”

“Which are?”

“Between eleven months and five years,” Noct replies, without missing a beat.

He smiles, relieved that the information is going in, even if Noct's not thrilled about it. “Fine. We'll stop. How is your speech coming along for your birthday gala?”

“Fine.”

“Fine, as in...?”

Noct, who’d grabbed his phone the instant he’d been given permission to stop working, looks up from whatever he’s doing on it.

“Uh, as in, I’ve got it covered.”

“Like your history assignment?” he replies, arching an eyebrow. 

“Hey, I already said how much I appreciate that you did that for me, Specs.” Noct brightens suddenly. “You got an 'A' for it though.”

“I should certainly hope so,” he says dryly. He reaches for his cup, frowning when he discovers it’s emptier than he remembers. “We can work on your speech now if you want to?”

“Nah,” Noct replies, waving a hand, eyes still glued to his phone. He starts to type something. “I need a break.” Ignis isn’t expecting him to look up suddenly, but he finds himself caught in that searching gaze once more. “You look like you could do with a break, too. You sleeping okay, Ignis?”

If the look caught him off guard, the question definitely did. A consummate professional, he recovers quickly, giving Noct a perfunctory smile.

“While your concern is appreciated, I can assure you I’m getting adequate rest in order to discharge my duties. You needn’t worry.”

Noct's expression pulls into a frown. “Do I look like my dad, Specs? I’m not talking about your _duties_. I’m talking about the fact that you look like you need more sleep. Or,” Noct says, drawing the word out as grinning suddenly, “You’ve found yourself a hot guy you’re not telling me about?”

For possibly the first time, well, _ever_ , Ignis finds himself happy that he hasn’t got any coffee because had he been mid-drink, the mouthful would have almost certainly wound up sprayed everywhere, which is too undignified to even contemplate. Instead, he schools his expression into a look that says Noctis is being utterly ridiculous.

“Noctis,” he replies flatly, “when in Bahamut's name do you think I have time to pursue a relationship with someone?” Despite the grin, he sees Noct's uncertainty and seizes on it without a flicker of guilt for the deflection. He is a strategist, after all. “Maybe if I didn’t have to spend so much time bailing you out, I’d actually have the opportunity to _meet_ a hot guy.”

It works, because of course it does. Noct's smile disappears, replaced by an expression which is equal parts guilty and sullen.

“Sorry,” Noct says after a moment, his phone momentarily forgotten as he scratches idly at something on the desktop.

The subterfuge has obviously proven successful, so there’s no need to prolong Noct's misery. He waves a hand, dismissing the issue.

“Don’t be; you may find it hard to believe, but I do enjoy my duties, Noct.”

There’s a look of disbelief that passes across Noct's face before he shrugs. “Yeah well, I still think you should try to get some fun once in a while.”

Ignis smiles because this is clearly Noct-speak for, ' _and let me have some fun while you’re at it_ '. He lays down the papers and says, “Why don’t we call it a day then? We can continue this tomorrow.”

“Really?” Noct says, blinking in apparent disbelief, although he’s already reaching for his bag, evidently not willing to risk hanging around in case there’s a change of heart.

“Absolutely.”

“Awesome. See you, Specs.”

Once Noct has gone, he leans back in his chair and blows out a long, steadying breath. Truth is, he _is_ tired. As Noct's birthday gala approaches, the preparations have intensified, giving him an additional workload on top of his already-hectic schedule. When he’s not at meetings, or briefings or tutoring Noct or running errands, he’s at his desk sitting with his head in his hands trying to work out how he can get to all these events and fulfil all his duties without splitting himself in two.

This... thing with Gladio is proving to be another pressure on his already over-burdened calendar, although it’s not an unpleasant constraint, by any means. Over the last week they've had two further assignations since that moment of madness at the citadel, which is snatched time that he can ill-afford. Both occasions have occurred at the expense of sleep.

But worth it, nonetheless.

Even when Gladio isn’t physically present, crowding him up against the nearest flat surface and kissing him like he’s got something to prove, he continues to invade his thoughts. Before it was a preoccupation, a niggling confusion that irritated him because he couldn’t make sense of _why_ he was so fixated with the other man. Admittedly he’s no closer to actually figuring that out, but for now he's satisfied to overlook this minor aberration and let his mind be constantly occupied by... different thoughts of Gladio.

His mind drifts back to their encounter during the Crownsguard meeting. _Gods_... it still astounds him that he agreed to meet Gladio in that room over the break. It’s just not something he would _do_. He closes his eyes and recalls the thrill of sending and receiving the sexually charged messages while the other attendees argued over Crownsguard finances, oblivious to what was transpiring between them. When Gladio had asked to meet him in an adjacent room, he’d known the direction they were heading in and yet he’d gone willingly. As a rule, he's happy to accept the accusations that he's boring because it’s not in his nature to be a risk taker, so why he did something so incredibly stupid is utterly beyond him.

Pushing aside the questionable nature of his actions for a moment, his mind focuses on the act itself. He’d consider himself reasonably sexually experienced, but it’s fair to say that most of his encounters prior to Gladio, had been, well, fairly ordinary. Satisfying, yes, but nothing that might feature in any of the pornographic movies he’s seen. Yet when he thinks of Gladio, dominating him so completely, he realises that it’s tapped into desires he never knew he had.

After their first time together - once he was over the instinctive shock and self-loathing - he'd found himself aroused most strongly by the fact that he’d been so helplessly wanton. Indeed, the things that had horrified him the most in the immediate aftermath - being obedient to Gladio's orders and allowing himself to be bent over and taken whilst still fully clothed - are the details he returns to when he wants to relive that moment. And then the citadel...

Eyes still closed, he replays the memories of being gagged by Gladio's hand. He allows himself to recollect the sensations - of calloused, warm fingers pressed firmly against his mouth, stifling his moans as he came. The logical part of his brain tells him he should feel humiliated, or at the very least relieved that Gladio had prevented his traitorous mouth from causing them to be discovered, but his increasingly loud and clamorous libido begs to differ. He’d enjoyed it but, more importantly, he wants _more_ of it. He wants to discover more about himself and yes... he wants Gladio to be the one to accompany him on that voyage of discovery.

He yawns deeply, then glares ruefully at his empty coffee cup. He should go home, eat a proper meal and get an early night. But he’s got a presentation to prepare that he’s due to give in three days’ time and some figures to collate for next Monday’s council meeting. With a sigh, he fires up his laptop and decides to reward himself at least with a fresh cup of coffee.

OoOoO

Before he knows it, midnight is fast approaching. He’s made good headway on the presentation, but he concedes defeat when he tries to tackle the accounting report, because the figures appear to be jumping all over the page. Maybe he could look at some of the tasks he’s got to do for the gala instead. Realistically though, he should probably call it a day.

He’s rummaging in his briefcase for the notes he took at the last planning meeting when his phone buzzes on the desk. He reaches for it, angling it toward him so he can read the message that’s still showing on the phone’s lock screen.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:48 PM):** hey. what are you doing right now?

He sets his briefcase down, to transfer his phone into his left hand so he can type his response.

 **Ignis (08/ 27, 11:48 PM):** Working.

Immediately he can see that Gladio is typing something. The reply pings almost instantly.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:49 PM):** seriously? it's almost midnight ignis

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:49 PM):** you should leave the paperwork and come over here.

 **Ignis (08/ 27, 11:50 PM):** I was just about to leave. It's time I head home to bed.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:50 PM):** my dad's staying at the citadel tonight and iris is sleeping at her friend's. i have the place to myself.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:51 PM):** I'll make it worth your while to drop by.

His mind wanders for a moment, picturing Gladio fresh out of the shower, damp hair curling about his bare shoulders as he sits on his bed typing these messages.

 **Ignis (08/ 27, 11:51 PM):** I should really go home....

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:52 PM):** you'll get a good night's sleep after I'm done blowing your mind.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:52 PM):** we don't have to fuck. i just want to suck your cock. 10 minutes, in and out.

He wonders if another person would be offended by the impersonal tone of these arrangements. At least he can applaud Gladio for getting straight to the point.

 **Ignis (08/ 27, 11:53 PM):** I suppose I could call on my way home

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:53 PM):** good. here's some extra incentive.

There’s a pause before the next message comes through. This time it’s a photo detailing a familiar set of well-defined abdominal muscles that disappear beneath the waistband of form-fitting boxer briefs. The pale grey underwear is doing little to conceal the sizeable length that strains against the cloth. Instinctively he glances up to check he’s not being observed, which is ridiculous because it’s almost midnight and he’s in his own office, yet despite the heat it brings to his cheeks, there’s also a stirring in his own groin which must be acknowledged.

He sighs deeply as he rubs a hand across his face. There are no two ways about it - he's exhausted and more and more frequently running on fumes. And yet if he goes home, he probably won’t be able to sleep. Keeping so many plates spinning ensures that his mind is never still, so maybe a quick visit to Gladio's place will help him shut off for a little while.

He grabs his jacket and shrugs into it before firing off a speedy reply.

 **Ignis (08/ 27, 11:55 PM):** Very... incentivising. I’ll see you shortly.

 **Gladiolus (08 /27, 11:55 PM):** see you in a bit. :-)

He drives to Gladio's place and parks at the front of the Amicitia mansion. It’s an impressive edifice, all clean lines and windows that illustrate the family's wealth. It’s in one of these windows he sees Gladio, who raises a hand and heads to the front door, which opens just as he approaches it.

“Hey,” Gladio says grinning as he steps back to allow entry. “Glad you could come.”

“I really should be heading home,” Ignis repeats, although for whose benefit he’s saying it he’s not entirely sure. Gladio has at least had the decency to put more clothes on, although it’s a strategic choice - the t-shirt and shorts he’s wearing still managing to showcase his impressive physique.

“You liked the picture?” Gladio asks, evidently choosing to ignore his previous statement.

He arches an eyebrow and gives Gladio a withering look. “I should have guessed that you’d be the kind of person who would send ' _dick pics_ ' _._  Although if you’re expecting similar in return then I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“So you deleted it then?”

The question catches him off guard and he doesn’t respond, but the involuntary break in eye contact clearly furnishes Gladio with the answer he’s looking for. His mouth curls into that infuriating smile.

“Didn’t think so.”

Before he can counter, or at the very least defend himself, Gladio turns and saunters away down the corridor.

“You wanna drink?” he throws over his shoulder just before he disappears, presumably into the kitchen. Ignis places his briefcase on the floor and drapes his jacket over it.

“No thank you.”

Gladio reappears, his smile broadening.

“Ignis, all business, huh? I like it.”

He makes a face, but proceeds to follow Gladio as he goes toward the staircase. Together they head up and along a corridor. The Amicitia house is a sizeable property so the likelihood is most of the doors they pass lead to bedrooms. At the end of the corridor is Gladio’s room, the light already on. As they enter, his first thought is how it’s almost the same size as his entire apartment. It’s tastefully decorated - not overly masculine either - which is something of a surprise. Gladio gestures to the bed, so he goes to sit down on it. The comforter is wonderfully soft beneath his finger tips, the bed it rests upon enormous.

Gladio doesn’t join him on it though. Instead he comes to kneel on the floor, one hand coaxing his legs apart. When he moves them, Gladio slots himself in the space and grins, fingers moving up to his belt buckle once he’s pulled off his shoes. He allows Gladio to work, raising his hips so that his lower clothing can be removed. Propped up on his elbows, he studies Gladio as the other man strokes along his thighs, hands moving tantalisingly close to his growing erection.

“Lie back,” Gladio instructs, his voice a low purr. “Lemme deal with this.”

He does as Gladio asks, giving himself a view of the ceiling. Closing his eyes to allow himself to fully appreciate the warm breath ghosting across the sensitive flesh, he gasps when a tongue unexpectedly flicks across the head. It feels wonderful, and Gladio's bed is ridiculously comfortable. The mattress alone probably costs more than every piece of furniture in his own apartment and... and...

He jerks awake with a soft snore. Remembering where he is, he sits up quickly to find Gladio sitting back on his haunches, studying him with a strange expression on his face.

“You know, if you don’t like the way I suck your dick you could just _say_ ,” Gladio offers. He's trying to make a joke of it, but the expression stops short of his eyes. “Havin' someone fall asleep on me is definitely a first, an' not the good kind.”

“I’m sorry, Gladio,” he says, mortified. He rubs a hand across his face. “I’ve just got so much on at the moment, what with my regular duties and the gala and Noct-”

“Oh yeah?” Gladio interrupts, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the dresser. “What’s the lazy little shit done now? Or not done, knowing him.”

“Gladio.” He’s aghast at the other man's tone, even though Gladio is smiling. Noct may be a typical unreliable teenager, but he’s still their future monarch, after all. “That’s hardly an appropriate way to talk about him, and for your information, he’s meeting all his obligations at present.”

Gladio gives a humourless bark of laughter. “Give it a rest, Iggy; it’s me you’re talkin' to. I dunno why you always defend him.”

He fixes Gladio with a glare as he reaches for his underwear and trousers, putting them on hurriedly, not bothering to tuck his shirt back in. Gladio, evidently realising that he’s said the wrong thing, sighs and shakes his head as he gets to his feet too.

“Iggy, Ignis - wait, _please_.”

“No, Gladio,” he replies sharply. He’s angry now - mainly with himself for accepting Gladio’s invitation when he shouldn’t and subsequently making a fool of himself - but with Gladio too for picking at this wound again. “I’m tired of you insinuating that I do too much for Noct. He’s young and faced with an unenviable future, so if I can assist him, then it’s my duty to do so to the best of my ability.”

He goes to leave, but Gladio catches his arm, fingers holding him tight.

“But _you’re_ young too, Iggy and yet you’re _killin_ ' yourself to be at Noct's beck an' call every second of the fucking day. I’ve seen your schedule. It’s not even possible to be in as many places as you're supposed to be.”

Ignis narrows his eyes. “You’re spying on me now?”

“Spying?” Gladio repeats, incredulous. “Oh for fuck's sake, Ignis. I looked at it to try and see where you might be before I texted you. Funnily enough, the one place I knew you wouldn’t be was at your own apartment, in bed.”

“And yet, you still texted me. Just whose beck and call am I at again?”

The silence that follows this question lies heavy between them. The subtle shifts in Gladio's expression suggest he’s trying to work out what to say next. His eyes are flat, no trace of humour now.

“Would it actually kill you to believe that I’m concerned about you?”

The disbelieving noise Ignis makes is almost involuntary, the smile he gives sardonic. “Oh come now, Gladio. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

“Believe what?” Gladio frowns.

“That you actually _care_ about me.” He fixes Gladio with a look of pity. “Because I’m fairly certain your libido feels nothing for my well-being, and frankly if you believe otherwise then you’re a fool.”

He shakes his arm free of Gladio’s grip and stalks out of the room and back downstairs. His briefcase and jacket sit by the front door, and he strides toward them, not waiting to see if Gladio is following because he’s too weary for another argument.

Only once he’s in his car does he glance back at the house, but Gladio is nowhere to be seen in any of the lit windows and the front door remains firmly closed. With a deep sigh, he rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment and closes his eyes. Already there’s a part of him that’s regretting what he just said. While it’s true that this... thing between them is based solely on sexual compatibility, Gladio's not a _monster_. To imply otherwise... well, that was uncalled for and he should apologise.

But not now. Going back to the house will probably only serve to exacerbate the tension between them and lead to more things being said that would quickly be regretted. He’ll try to catch up with Gladio tomorrow to sort out this mess, but for now, he should really get some sleep.

When he arrives home, he throws his jacket and briefcase on the couch and heads straight into his bedroom. It’s only when he’s under the covers does he realise that he hasn’t actually eaten anything since lunchtime, but he’s too tired to do anything about it now. With a quick vow to get some proper food in the morning, he clicks off his light and attempts to ignore his racing thoughts.

OoOoO

At some point he knows he must have fallen asleep, but when he wakes to his five thirty alarm, he still feels far from well-rested. He lies there staring at the ceiling as he listens to the sounds of cars passing outside, infrequent since it’s still so early. His thoughts drift to Gladio as they often do of late. He wonders if the other man is angry. Whether this thing between them is over. He can’t decide if that would be a good thing or not. Hesitantly he reaches for his phone to check for messages; there is one, but it’s from Eirene and not Gladio.  
  
**Eirene (08 /28, 05:22 AM):** Good morning, my love. I haven’t heard from you for a while and was thinking about you. Did you ever sort your troubling situation? Xxx

Immediately he feels guilty about not apprising her of the situation with Gladio, after she was so good to offer her wisdom when he needed it. Ironically, things appears to have come full circle, with the bad feeling between them rearing its ugly head once more. He wishes he had better news for her, but she deserves to know nonetheless.

Eirene is an early riser like himself, and with the hour's time difference between here and Tenebrae, he makes the decision to call her rather than reply to her message by text. She answers on the third ring.

“Ignis!” Her voice is warm and melodic and wraps around him like a blanket.

“Good morning, Eirene. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. Please accept my apologies; it’s incredibly remiss of me.”

At the other end of the phone, Eirene makes a disgruntled noise - an audible waving away of his apology.

“I didn’t text you to make you feel guilty,” she scolds, “I was just curious to know how you were fairing with your mistake.”

He can almost hear the inverted commas around that last word. He turns onto his side, his phone resting against the side of his head. Unfortunately this is the point where he has to confess that he has not only failed to rectify his mistake, but has repeated it since they last spoke.

“Am I to infer from your pause that the situation remains unresolved?”

He laughs, despite himself. “Had you messaged me some twenty-four hours ago, I would have said that the situation was in hand, but unfortunately things appear to have become somewhat problematic again.”

“Mmmm,” comes the response, her tone thoughtful. “Whoever he is, he must be worth it.”

He frowns because she’s making it sound like a relationship, which this most certainly isn’t.

“Physically, our compatibility is without question.”

“But you don’t like him.”

He sighs, certain he can now preface every statement he ever makes about Gladio with the phrase, _it's complicated_.

“I don’t _dislike_ him, by any means,” he answers. “But I’m not sure there being something between us is a good idea.”

“Why? What happened?”

Idly, he smooths his hand across the pillow as he considers the question. He may as well be honest.

“He - Gladio - invited me over last night. I shouldn’t have accepted his invitation; it was late and I was extremely tired, but I went because... well, I went.” He pauses, feeling the heat flooding his cheeks. “I don’t think it was the liaison either of us hoped it would be.”

“Performance issues, huh?” Eirene replies dryly and he wonders all over again how anyone can be so perceptive at reading between the lines, a skill he finds eludes him slightly. “So what happened then?”

“Well, for not the first time, Gladio accused me of doing too much for Noct. On top of that, he appears to think I’m burning the candle at both ends.”

“Are you going to tell me he’s wrong?” There’s a challenge in her voice that instantly makes him feel a touch defensive.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle; I’m perfectly capable of managing my workload. What I resent is Gladio's criticism, especially when it’s dressed up as concern for me.”

He’s expecting Eirene to say something in support. Admittedly, she’s also raised concerns about how hard he works, but she knows he’s more than capable of fulfilling his duties and will be offended on his behalf that someone else is attempting to disparage him.

Instead, she says, “Is there a chance you could be wrong? That he _does_ actually care about you?”

He laughs ruefully. “I'm afraid not.”

“Why?”

“I’m a realist, Eirene. Aside from your good self, I’m aware that people only like me for what I can do for them. Whether it’s my intelligence or my organisational skills or, in this case, my performance in the bedroom, there's usually one specific thing that a person is interested in and I’m under no illusion that Gladio likes me for our sexual compatibility. Maybe Gladio _thinks_ there is an emotional connection, but frankly if he’s conflated the two, then it can only spell disaster for the both of us.”

At the other end of the phone, Eirene sighs but doesn’t reply. He frowns, wondering if the connection is dropping out.

“Eirene?”

“Sorry. I - I’m just... stunned. You can’t actually believe that, Ignis? That people only care for you because you're _useful_? Oh my darling...”

Her voice is wavering slightly. He instantly feels bad for speaking so plainly and causing her distress.

“Please don’t let it trouble you, Eirene,” he hurries to say. “I assure you, I’m okay. I’m going to deal with this situation with Gladio today. Despite my feelings on the matter, I owe him an apology for the things I said last night. He’s a good man at heart.”

“And so are _you_ ,” Eirene says fiercely. “Do what you need to do, but don’t for a _minute_ think that you’re not worth caring about. Do you hear me?”

“I do-”

“Say it.”

“Eirene...”

“ _Say it_!”

“I’m worth caring about,” he repeats, trying to sound convincing.

“Good boy.” She sounds somewhat placated by his acquiescence, which is a relief.

They end the call, with Eirene exacting a promise from him that he will think about what she’s said. He always feels better having spoken to her, but the time spent on the phone has left him running behind schedule so once he’s showered and ready, he only has time to grab a coffee before he has to leave. He promises himself he’ll get a substantial lunch to make up for it.

He arrives at the citadel and heads straight to his office. He wants to clear the air with Gladio, but the other man won’t be in until later - he knows this without even checking his schedule. More coffee is therefore the first order of business, and with a cup to hand, he makes a start on his emails, although there aren’t many, given that he only logged his computer off a matter of hours ago. One task he needs to make a start on today is to find a dance instructor for Noct, to teach him the steps he will have to master in order to impress the Accordian contingent coming to his birthday gala. Already he can picture Noct's face when he has to break that news to him. He decides instead to continue work on his presentation, but it’s slow going. He’s distracted. Eventually, he can bear it no longer and he decides to head down to the gym to see if he can find Gladio and get the mortifying discussion about what happened last night out of the way.

As he passes through the citadel and enters the training complex from the upper floor, he can hear voices at the bottom of the stairs. The soft sound of someone crying is what halts him in his tracks. He considers slipping away so as not to intrude, until he hears Gladio speaking. Before he realises what he’s doing, he’s listening into the conversation.

After a moment, he places the other voices - it’s Gladio's little sister Iris, whom he’s met on a couple of occasions and Jared, the Amicitia family servant. The older man explains how he’d gone to collect Iris from her friend's house and that she became upset on their journey to school and, unsure what to do, he’d brought her here instead. Gladio thanks him and assures him that he will take care of her, allowing the other man to return home.

“What happened?” he hears Gladio ask after the sound of retreating footsteps indicate Jared has left.

Iris sniffs loudly. “The girls were talking about Sunday.”

“Ah,” is Gladio's response. “Did someone say something to you?”

There’s a note in Gladio's voice which hints at danger. Immediately Ignis tries to think what’s significant about this Sunday, but he draws a blank. Clearly it’s something important to the Amicitia family though.

“No,” Iris replies, “No one was mean, but I miss her, Gladdy.”

When he doesn’t hear what Gladio says, he steps forward so that he can actually see the siblings. Gladio is hugging Iris tightly, his hand stroking her hair as she sobs into his chest. It’s such a tender moment, he feels guilty for witnessing it. From this angle, he can see Gladio’s face and the sadness and loss he sees there is so far removed from that usual cock-sure smile it’s like he’s looking at a completely different person. After a moment, Gladio pulls back and gently wipes Iris's tears from her cheeks.

“Hey,” Gladio says, giving her a smile of encouragement. He digs in his pocket and pulls out some crumpled bills. “Go get yourself a drink and I’ll be along in a minute. I just need to make a quick phone call.”

Ignis watches as Iris disappears down the corridor. Once she’s gone, Gladio pulls out his phone and taps the screen before putting it to his ear.

“Magnus? Listen, about Sunday. I'm not gonna be able to make it... nah, nothing like that; I’m just gonna spend it with my sis... it would have been our mom's birthday and she’s upset.” Gladio paces in the empty lobby. “Yeah, I know. I was really lookin' forward to it, too. You can still go. Tell Rufus he can have my ticket, okay? No, I don’t want any money for it.”

He remembers now Gladio mentioning a movie premiere that he’d secured VIP tickets for in order to meet one of his favourite actors. At the time he’d been shocked by how much Gladio had been willing to pay, as well as the favours he now owed to people in order to even get the tickets in the first place. That he’d give them up without hesitation in the interests of someone else‘s happiness...

As Gladio ends the call, Ignis makes the decision to go and speak to him before he disappears to join Iris, because he needs to apologise now more than ever. Gladio glances up when hears footsteps on the stairs and his expression transforms into one that says he can’t deal with any more trouble right now. He looks as if he’s going to leave.

“Gladio, wait.”

Whatever Gladio sees in his face, it’s enough to stop the other man from walking away. Yet he looks wary, like there’s still the possibility that what Ignis says next could irrevocably destroy this gossamer-thin connection between them for good.

And despite everything he said to Eirene before, despite the fact that he has no idea _why_ he feels this way, he realises that he definitely doesn’t want that to happen. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and meets Gladio's hesitant gaze.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, please?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was determined to post this today to celebrate Ignis's birthday. It’s later than planned but it’s still the 7th elsewhere in the world, so yay! Thank you to Nix for RPing the text exchange and thank you to everyone who's continuing to read along. Every comment and kudos is like manna from Heaven. You keep this story growing, so thank you. :)


	16. Gladio

Gladio should go. His kid sister is waiting for him in the cafe around the corner, crying her damn eyes out over their dead mom. He doesn’t want to leave her alone for too long. Not that the Citadel’s dangerous. Far from it. Everyone knows she’s Clarus Amicitia’s daughter, and she’s spent plenty of afternoons playing on the Citadel grounds, but the thought of Iris sitting by herself and bawling into a hot chocolate just kills him.  
  
Besides, he’s still pissed about Ignis’s parting shot last night. _I’m fairly certain your libido feels nothing for my well-being, and frankly, if you believe otherwise, then you’re a fool._ Shiva’s fucking tits. That stung worse than a literal slap in the face. Walking away from Ignis would be what he deserves, but something in his voice makes Gladio pause.   
  
“What do you want?” he asks curtly.  
  
Ignis’s eyes widen for a half second, but he composes himself just as fast, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. “Is your sister all right?”  
  
“She’s fine.”   
  
Ignis frowns, tilting his head a fraction. “She was crying.”  
  
“Yeah.” Gladio folds his arms over his chest, fixing Ignis with the coldest gaze he can muster. “What about it?”  
  
“Is there anything I can do?”  
  
“No. This coming Sunday would’ve been our mom’s birthday. It’s been a few years since she died, but Iris still gets upset.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I don’t need your condolences.”  
  
Ignis nods, lowering his gaze. Impatiently, Gladio watches him, tapping a finger against his bicep. Is he planning to get to the point, or is he just gonna stand there awkwardly all day? At any other time, the uncertainty in Ignis’s posture would’ve had Gladio feeling sorry for him, but not after last night.  
  
“Well?” he prompts. “What did you want to talk about?”  
  
A pink flush rises to Ignis’s cheeks, and he glances up at Gladio before looking away again. “I wanted to…apologize. For my behaviour last night.”  
  
Gladio laughs humourlessly. If he had a gil for every time Ignis came to him apologizing about something, he’d be loaded.  
  
“Which part?” he asks. “Where you conked out with your dick in my mouth, or when you said I don’t give a fuck about you?”  
  
Ignis cringes, his eyes sweeping the corridor, before he takes Gladio’s arm and pulls him into an alcove. “Both. I fell asleep not because of any deficiency on your part, but because…” He glances around the hallway again before meeting Gladio’s eyes. “…my nights have been restless of late, and it’s beginning to catch up with me.”  
  
Gladio snorts. “Yeah, because you’re doing your work, _plus_ Noct’s, plus all this gala stuff. You do know we have an events committee to plan that, don’t you?”  
  
A muscle in Ignis’s jaw flexes. “I’m only helping him find a dance instructor—”  
  
“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve seen your calendar, remember? You’ve been having all kinds of meetings with decorators and caterers and the Six only know who else,” Gladio says. “And what about that pastry cookbook on your desk? The one that’s like six hundred pages?” When Ignis doesn’t answer, he goes on, “You know, the one with the sticky notes all over it? You planning on baking his fucking cake too?”  
  
Ignis makes an impatient sound. “I didn’t come here looking for a lecture from you.”   
  
“Yeah, well, I’m just letting you know I care.”  
  
Gladio brushes past him, bumping him with his shoulder, and tries not to smirk in satisfaction as it nearly knocks Ignis off his feet. Let the prick stew about this situation for a little while. Let him do some soul-searching. Gladio’s had just about enough, and even though part of him is glad Ignis feels like shit about it—glad Ignis can show a little humanity once in a while—he’s not gonna give Ignis the satisfaction of accepting his apology.  
  
He rounds the corner without looking back, half expecting Ignis to call after him, but he doesn’t.  
  
That stings a little bit, too.

  
*

  
Iris is waiting for him when he arrives at the cafe, sitting patiently at a round table in the corner, her eyes red-rimmed. But at least she’s not crying anymore. She’s cupping a steaming mug in her hands, and there’s another one sitting on the table across from her—a coffee for him, most likely. He slides into the seat next to her, pulling his chair close enough to put an arm around her shoulders.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” he says as she leans into his embrace. “Sorry I took so long. Got caught talking to Ignis in the hallway.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Iris says, her voice thick. She sniffles and scratches at a blob of congealed chocolate on the lip of the mug. “I didn’t mean to come and ruin your day, Gladdy.”  
  
“You didn’t ruin it. I’ve always got time for you, you know that.”  
  
“I just feel stupid,” she says miserably. “I’m almost fourteen. I shouldn’t be crying over Mom like that anymore.”  
  
Gladio sighs and rubs her arm soothingly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Not for the first time, he wishes she’d just let herself be a kid. A thirteen-year-old girl, not the daughter of a Shield. “Y’know, I get sad sometimes, too.”  
  
She pulls back to look at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Really?”  
  
“‘Course.”  
  
 “I can’t imagine you crying, Gladdy.”  
  
Grinning, he ruffles her hair. “That’s ‘cause I do all my crying in the shower.”   
  
“Hey!” She swats his hand away, laughing. “It’s okay to cry in front of me.”  
  
“Nah. I have to be strong for you. That’s what big brothers are for.”  
  
She pouts and crosses her arms, and it’s the cutest goddamn thing he’s ever seen. “But I give such good hugs, Gladdy. I’d make you feel better really fast.”  
  
“I know you would.”  
  
She rests her head on his arm again. “Wanna watch some TV with me tonight? You’ve been gone a lot, and Daddy’s hardly ever home. I miss you guys.”  
  
That one hits him right in the gut. Between work, the gym, and social gatherings with his friends, he really has been out of the house more often than not. He was gonna go to the gym after training with Noct tonight, but it can probably wait until later. He usually doesn’t go to bed until midnight anyway, and Iris needs him.  
  
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll pick up some popcorn on the way home. How does that sound?”  
  
Iris bounces on her chair and beams at him. “Awesome. Thanks, Gladdy. You’re the best.” Then she sobers, her smile faltering. “I’m really, really sorry I ruined your day, though. I’ll try to be better. I won’t cry next year, promise.”  
  
“You don’t have to promise me that.” He chucks her under the chin, and that revives her smile, brings some of the colour back to her cheeks. “Now c’mon. Finish your hot chocolate and I’ll get Jared to take you home.” 

  
  
*

  
When he gets home that evening, Iris is already in her pyjamas. They make a big bowl of cheddar popcorn and spend the evening watching old episodes of _The Coeurl Hunter_. It was one of their mom’s favourite shows. They watched it so many times as kids that they can quote all the best lines to each other. Gladio says them in funny voices, and Iris throws popcorn at him, dissolving into squeals of laughter when Gladio grabs her by the leg and tickles the bottom of her foot.   
  
A little after ten o’clock, Iris falls asleep on his shoulder, curled up under a knitted throw. The poor kid’s probably worn out from crying all afternoon. Quietly, Gladio shuts off the television and carries her upstairs, and she hardly stirs when he tucks her into her bed and drops a goodnight kiss on her forehead.   
  
Sometimes he forgets she’s a teenager now, and not the little girl who came running to him for everything from a stubbed toe to a spider in the shower.   
  
Sighing, he retreats to his room and changes into his gym clothes. It’s later than he’s used to going to the gym, but he won’t be able to sleep unless he’s had his workout, so he resigns himself to driving all the way back downtown. By the time he parks his car in the underground garage, it’s past eleven. The Citadel’s halls are quiet. Most of the bureaucrats have gone home for the night, as have any Crownsguard not on duty. He nods in greeting at a glaive patrolling the corridor before he turns and takes the stairs down to the Crownsguard training facility.   
  
A muffled _thwap_ comes from inside the gym as he approaches.  
  
He slows, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder, and checks his watch again. At this hour, he figured he’d be alone. Most Crownsguard get their workouts done in the morning or during work hours, whether before the day starts in earnest or when Cor puts them through rigorous drills in the adjacent yard. Training Noct comes with its own challenges, but Gladio doesn’t miss the days of running laps around the track and dragging sand bags across the field.   
  
He figured he’d be alone, but more than that, he _wanted_ to be alone, so he’d have the privacy he needed to work out all his pent-up frustration over the state of his sex life and his future in Noct’s service. The last thing he needs is for some young recruit to see him cursing Ignis’s name as he pummels the shit out of a punching bag.  
  
Well, there’s nothing he can do about it now. He’s already here. No use turning around and going home. Sighing, he approaches the door and glances through the window.  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
It’s Ignis. He’s dressed in a tight t-shirt and shorts—the same getup he had on the last time Gladio saw him like this. And just like last time, he’s darting around like a rodent on speed, shredding up a mannequin with his daggers. Despite their exchange in the hall this morning, Gladio can’t help checking out the thick muscles of his thighs and the cling of his shorts on his firm ass. If he walked in there with a purpose, Ignis would probably still let him peel them down and—  
  
 _Get a grip. He fell asleep in the middle of a blowjob. He ain’t interested._  
  
Shaking his head, Gladio pushes the door open and steps inside. At the sound of the latch giving, Ignis pauses and turns to look at him. Sweat beads on his forehead, darkens the front of his grey shirt. His chest heaves with every breath. When he sees Gladio standing in the doorway, his eyebrows rise, and he draws himself upright, wiping his face on his forearm.  
  
For a second, Gladio regrets coming in here. Those wide green eyes are dangerous at the best of times, but now? They’re looking at him with a blend of wariness and curiosity, like Ignis can’t decide if he should be on guard or opening his arms to Gladio. The worst part is, Gladio doesn’t know himself. As ticked as he is about Ignis’s behaviour, about all the thoughtless shit he says, Gladio still wants him.   
  
It doesn’t make sense, but there it is.  
  
“Guess I should’ve known you’d be here,” Gladio says as the door clicks shut behind him.   
  
Ignis narrows his eyes. “Meaning?”  
  
Gladio shrugs, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. “There isn’t exactly room in your day schedule for a workout.”  
  
“What’s your excuse, then?” Ignis says sharply. “Perhaps you should take some of your own advice and go home to bed.”  
  
“Nah.” Gladio chuckles and unzips his hoodie, then shrugs it off, leaving himself dressed in just a tank top and compression pants. “Had to push the workout so I could hang out with my kid sister.”  
  
Ignis nods and nudges his glasses up his nose, finally looking away. “How is she?”  
  
“She was fine once we got some popcorn into her.”  
  
Gladio squats and opens his duffel bag, retrieving his hand wraps from within. Doesn’t seem like Ignis is planning on going anywhere, but that’s okay. Gladio can mind his own business over at the punching bag. It’s in the corner, tucked conveniently out of the way, and that leaves plenty of room for Ignis to do his thing. He rises again and begins to wrap his hands, resolutely looking anywhere but at Ignis as he crosses the mats.   
  
“Gladio.”   
  
Surprised, Gladio glances up to find he’s the subject of Ignis’s uncertain gaze.   
  
“Would you like to spar?” Ignis asks.  
  
Gladio hesitates. Tussling with Ignis won’t lead to anything good. From where he’s standing, there are only two outcomes he can see: he’ll either let his frustration get the best of him and end up hurting Ignis, or he’ll lose control of his libido and they’ll fuck. Neither situation has an ending he’ll be proud of.   
  
“I dunno, Ignis…” he says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“It would be good to train together, wouldn’t you say?” Ignis presses. “To understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses, should a time ever come that we must work as a team to protect Noct?”  
  
Gladio snorts and finishes wrapping his hands, securing the ends with velcro. “Look, _Iggy_ , protecting Noct is my job. Yours is to cut up his vegetables and teach him how to kiss ass. I don’t want or need your help, okay?”  
  
“Do you really think that’s the appropriate attitude for a Shield to take with regards to his charge?” Ignis asks, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“What if you’re incapacitated or overwhelmed with adversaries?”  
  
“I still wouldn’t want you to have my back.”  
  
Ignis points his dagger at Gladio. “Then I challenge you. Show me what a Shield is made of—if you can.”  
  
Gladio looks at the dagger, then into Ignis’s eyes, and he can’t hold back a bark of laughter at how goddamn ridiculous it all is. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
 _If you can._ Titan fuck him in the ass. Ignis has combat training—he’s Crownsguard, after all, and Cor wouldn’t let any old wimp join up—and after the solo performance Gladio witnessed in this very gym a few weeks ago, he knows Ignis is deadly with his daggers. But he ain’t on the same level as a Shield. Gladio’s spent his entire life honing himself for this purpose. There’s no way Ignis could beat him. No fucking way.   
  
He shrugs. “Sorry. I’m not in the mood to wipe the floor with you.”  
  
“You think victory is a foregone conclusion?” Ignis smirks, stepping sideways as he begins to circle Gladio, his dagger still raised. “Your arrogance truly is breathtaking.”  
  
“It isn’t arrogance,” Gladio says sharply, tamping down on the urge to deck him right where he’s standing. “Just common sense.”  
  
“I think you’re afraid,” Ignis says. Each step he takes on the mats is precise and silent, like he’s a coeurl that’s just spotted its prey. “Not of hurting me, of course, but of being trounced. What a wound to the ego that would be—Gladiolus Amicitia, Shield to Prince Noctis, defeated by a lowly advisor.”  
  
Gladio snorts. “I ain’t scared of you.”  
  
Ignis adjusts his grip on the dagger, his eyes glittering. “I know men like you. You hide behind machismo because you know you’ll never truly be tested. Well, you can beat your chest all you like, but perhaps a dose of reality would do you some good.”  
  
Exasperated, Gladio throws up his hands. “Fine. You wanna fight? Let’s fucking fight.” Maybe kicking Ignis’s ass will get him to back the hell off.  
  
“With blades?” Ignis asks.  
  
“No.” They’re both on edge, and even though Gladio’s learned to control his strength, he doesn’t trust himself not to get carried away here. “Practice swords.”  
  
Ignis nods and sends his daggers back into the armiger. Gladio moves to the rack of polypropylene weapons along the far wall. After a quick scan of its contents, he removes a longsword—for himself—and two short swords, which he tosses onto the mats near Ignis.   
  
Testing the heft of the longsword in his hand, he watches as Ignis bends to pick up his own weapons, his eyes lingering on the muscles flexing in his thighs and biceps. Ignis isn’t gonna be a pushover. The guy’s stronger than he looks. Faster than he looks. And he’s smart—smarter than Gladio. He can admit that. Still, Gladio has no intention of losing, not after last night.  
  
Ignis slides into a wide defensive stance and raises his daggers, his eyes trained on Gladio, flicking from his face to his hands grasping the hilt of the longsword. Nervous excitement flutters in his belly, and he wonders if Ignis is going to act first, or if he’s gonna wait for Gladio to come to him. Well, Gladio has no intention of taking the offensive, not when Ignis is baiting him like this.  
  
“What are you waiting for?” Ignis asks.  
  
Gladio smirks. “Ditto. You’re the one who insisted on this. Maybe you should get things started.”  
  
“You’re still hesitating.”  
  
“Nah, I think you’re the one who’s scared—”  
  
Ignis moves before he’s finished speaking, lunging forward like a daggerquill diving for fish, his daggers slashing in double outward arcs. Gladio steps back just in time. The blades whistle past his face, almost grazing the tip of his nose and stirring his hair. _Shit._ So that’s how it’s gonna be. His heart starts to beat in double time.  
  
“Seems cheap to catch a guy off guard like that,” Gladio says.  
  
“A Shield should never be caught off guard,” Ignis retorts. He pushes his glasses up his nose and starts to circle Gladio again, one foot crossing over the other with a dancer’s grace. “That’s your first mistake.”  
  
“You tellin’ me how to do my fucking job?” Gladio growls.  
  
“Someone has to.”  
  
Ignis comes at him again, leaping into an aerial twist and swinging at Gladio with all his strength. Gladio dives out of harm’s way and rolls to his feet, raising his weapon instinctively to protect himself from a second blow. He can feel perspiration starting to bead on his forehead and upper lip, and when he looks up at Ignis, Gladio finds sweat rolling down his temples and neck. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire the view, though, because Ignis charges him. Gladio blocks one dagger with his longsword and grabs Ignis’s wrist when he thrusts the other at Gladio’s ribs.   
  
“Nice try,” he snarls, twisting until Ignis gives a grunt of pain and drops the dagger.  
  
He kicks it away. It spins harmlessly to the edge of the mats, well out of Ignis’s reach. Ignis shoves at him, but Gladio holds his sweat-slicked wrist fast. This close, he can smell Ignis’s sweat and aftershave, sharp and musky with a hint of cedar, can hear his every laboured breath. It’s doing things to him. There’s that familiar throb of molten heat between his legs, and the stiffening of his cock. Thank the fucking gods he’s wearing compression pants. Maybe Ignis won’t notice.   
  
“Looks like you’re all talk,” Gladio taunts.  
  
Face twisting, Ignis stabs at him with his other dagger. Gladio drops his own sword to grab that wrist, too, stopping it only inches from his chest.   
  
“You should go back to your desk and do some more paperwork, Iggy,” Gladio says. He works his hand upward until it grasps the blade, and he wrenches it from Ignis’s grasp, tosses it onto the mats a few feet away. “You’re not cut out for this.”  
  
“For someone who insists I mind my own business, you stick your nose in mine more often than you should,” Ignis hisses.   
  
His fist jabs Gladio in the side, just under his ribs. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to startle him. Ignis’s wrist slides from his grasp, and then the bastard’s launching into a back handspring, away from Gladio, toward the dagger lying harmlessly on the floor. He’s flashy, Gladio can admit that, but flashy ain’t gonna give him a win.   
  
Growling, Gladio tackles him, sending them both skidding to the mats in a tangled heap. Ignis gives a soft grunt as Gladio lands on top of him. One of Ignis’s legs slips between his own, his knee nearly nailing Gladio right in the balls. He tries to grab Ignis’s wrists, to stop him from squirming, but a hand grabs his hair, pulling hard, so hard that Gladio thinks it’s a sparring tactic until Ignis’s mouth closes on his own. He presses their lips together with so much force that their teeth knock together, until Gladio opens his mouth on a groan and Ignis slips his tongue inside.   
  
This ain’t right. He’s supposed to be annoyed at Ignis—for wounding Gladio’s pride, for treating him like he doesn’t care, for thinking he can beat Gladio in a fight. But he can’t think straight. Not when Ignis is under him, not when Ignis is kissing him. It’s like his frustration only fuels his need to touch Ignis, to take him, to watch him surrender in Gladio’s arms.  
  
 _I’m fairly certain your libido feels nothing for my well-being, and frankly, if you believe otherwise, then you’re a fool._  
  
An angry flush heats his cheeks. He should put a stop to this. He shouldn’t let Ignis touch him like Gladio belongs to him, _especially_ not after the bullshit he pulled last night.  
  
Ignis pushes at his shoulder, rolling them until Gladio’s on his back and Ignis straddles his hips. Gladio doesn’t even get to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing before Ignis is kissing him again, hands sliding under his shirt to graze over his nipples. Between Ignis’s ass sitting on his cock, and Ignis’s erection trapped between their bellies, he doesn’t stand a chance. He buries his hand in Ignis’s hair and kisses him back, moaning as Ignis teasingly flicks the tip of his tongue against Gladio’s own.  
  
“You’re such an ass,” Gladio growls as Ignis sits back.  
  
Ignis looks down at him, panting, his cheeks and neck red. “So are you.”  
  
“You think this is gonna make things right?”  
  
Ignis doesn’t answer, at least not in words. He shuffles down Gladio’s body, his fingertips trailing over Gladio’s tense abs, and hooks his fingers into the band of Gladio’s compression pants.   
  
Oh, shit.  
  
Gladio’s dick twitches. His pulse roars in his ears. He glances at door—more specifically, at the window in the door—but there’s a free standing punching bag blocking his view. Anyone who happened to glance into the room wouldn’t be able to see their faces, but they’d sure as shit know something was going on besides sparring.  
  
Ignis doesn’t seem bothered, though. The heat of his breath ghosts over Gladio’s dick through his pants, and he lifts his hips so Ignis can tug them and his boxer briefs down just enough to let his boner spring free. Fuck it. He’s already achingly hard and he stopped thinking with his brain a long time ago. If Ignis wants to blow him, he can be Gladio’s guest.   
  
Ignis licks his lips, his lust-darkened eyes meeting Gladio’s for a fleeting moment before he takes his cock in hand and pulls the foreskin back enough to expose the glistening head. Gladio has to bite down on a groan when Ignis leans in to engulf it with his mouth, his tongue rubbing against the frenulum. Six, it feels good. Normally, he’s the one on his knees between Ignis’s thighs, and he’s gotta say, he wishes they’d switched things up sooner.   
  
He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the mats, his ass cheeks trembling as pleasure crackles through his veins. He wants to spread his legs to give Ignis more room to work—maybe tease his balls a little, or slip the tip of a finger in his ass—but the tight band of his pants keeps them locked in place. It’s like some kind of torture. He’d take them off completely, but he doesn’t want Ignis to stop, and he sure as shit doesn’t want Cor walking in on him completely butt naked.  
  
Raising himself up on his elbows, he watches Ignis work. His eyes are closed, his wet lips moving up and down Gladio’s shaft, gaining speed. When he reaches the head, he hollows out his cheeks, and the hand pumping Gladio’s dick comes up to meet his mouth. _Fuck_ , that’s nice. Gladio can’t help grunting as Ignis swirls his tongue around the head before he goes back down, taking Gladio almost to the base.   
  
And he keeps going like that, finding a rhythm, hardly gagging when the tip of Gladio’s cock hits the back of his throat.  
  
“Iggy,” Gladio says in a strained voice, carding a hand through Ignis’s sweat-soaked hair, letting it come to rest on the back of his skull, gently encouraging. He’s on the edge of orgasm. His legs are trembling uncontrollably, his hips lifting off the ground to meet Ignis’s mouth. The heat pooled low in his belly is almost unbearable.  
  
Then Ignis opens his eyes to meet Gladio’s gaze, and Gladio comes suddenly with a choked sound, his hips bucking as a shudder rips through his body. Ignis holds him deep in his mouth, swallowing him down, until Gladio’s lying spent, boneless, and breathless on the mats, his whole body sticky with sweat.  
  
“Yes?” Ignis says, laughing softly, as he moves up to kiss Gladio’s mouth. Gladio tastes himself on Ignis’s lips, sharp and clean. “Did you have something to say to me?”  
  
Gladio glances at the door over his shoulder. Ignis follows his gaze.   
  
“Someone could’ve come in,” Gladio says.  
  
Ignis adjusts his glasses, pink tingeing his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and sits back on his heels. “I suppose I got caught up in the moment.”  
  
“That ain’t like you.”  
  
Ignis shakes his head, moving aside as Gladio clambers to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants. Now that the haze of orgasm is dissipating, he feels a little twinge of shame, for letting himself give in to Ignis so easily after all the shit he said last night. And that’s the problem with this whole situation. It ain’t just about fucking Ignis anymore. Hearing him say those things _hurt_ , more than he’d care to admit. They hurt because he wants Ignis to look at him and feel a fraction of whatever the hell it is that Gladio’s feeling for him.  
  
He wants Ignis to look at him and see more than a convenient mouth and cock.  
  
But Ignis doesn’t. A blowjob can’t change that.  
  
“Guess I’d better shower,” Gladio says, averting his eyes from Ignis’s hopeful face. He probably wants Gladio to return the favour, but Gladio’s not exactly in the mood. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”  
  
There’s a barely audible sigh before Ignis says, “I’ll come with you to the locker room. I need to collect my things.”  
  
They put away the practice weapons, and Gladio grabs his duffel bag, and they walk wordlessly, side by side, to the change room. As soon as they enter it, Ignis makes a beeline for his locker. Gladio watches him pull out his briefcase and click it open as he peels himself out of his tank top.   
  
“I wanted to give you this,” Ignis says. He comes around the bench and holds out a slim package wrapped in yellow paper with a sparkly green bow on it. “For Iris. I thought it might cheer her up after this morning.”  
  
Cautiously, Gladio accepts it. It’s small and light and firm. “What is it?”  
  
“A hard-bound illustrated edition of Vibianus’s _Poems for the First of Spring_.” Ignis scratches his head, his gaze dropping from Gladio’s eyes to the gift he’s holding. “I hope I’m not intruding. I only thought, after what you said about your mother during our team-building exercise…”  
  
Gladio swallows, nodding, his heart clenching in his chest. Only Ignis would act like a complete asshole to Gladio, then turn around and do something nice for his sister, a kid he hardly knows. “You didn’t go out and buy this, did you?”  
  
Ignis shakes his head. “No. I’ve had it since I was a child. My parents sent it to me from Tenebrae when I was a boy. I went home to get it during my lunch break and was going to put it on your desk before leaving for the night.”  
  
“I can’t accept this,” Gladio says. He holds it out for Ignis to take, but Ignis only frowns at it, crossing one arm over his body to grasp the other. “You should keep it.”  
  
“I haven’t looked at it in years. I insist, Gladio.” Ignis looks up at him, and that hopeful glimmer is back. “Perhaps you can read them to her when she misses your mother the most.”  
  
Does he think this is gonna buy him Gladio’s goodwill?  
  
‘Cause it’s working. Gladio looks down at the package, at the perfectly folded edges of the paper and the bow taped to the corner, and his heart softens toward Ignis. Maybe there’s a human being under his neurotic, steely exterior after all.   
  
“I’ll give it to her,” Gladio says. “She’ll love it. Thanks.”  
  
Ignis gives him a tight smile and a nod, and returns to his briefcase without another word. Typical. He extends his kindness to Iris, but keeps the walls up for Gladio. Why the hell was he so desperate to be forgiven, anyway? Why the blowjob? Fuck. Maybe he just doesn’t like conflict. Maybe he only did it to smooth things over, and because he thought Gladio wanted it.  
  
Shaking his head, Gladio shucks himself out of his compression pants and underwear, then throws all his sweaty clothes in the mesh bag he keeps in his duffel. Despite his anger, he tries to keep his actions measured and calm. The last thing he needs is another blow-up between them. Ignis doesn’t want him, not really. That’s all there is to it.  
  
And it shouldn’t matter, anyway.  
  
He grabs his body wash and slings his towel around his neck, and casually turns to bid Ignis goodnight.  
  
The other man is typing something on his phone, a fond smile softening his features. Gladio’s words die in his throat. There’s no way he’s texting Noct; Ignis loves the kid, but he never smiles when he talks about him. That leaves only one other candidate: Eirene. A woman’s name, and to Gladio, a huge question mark, because Ignis never talks about her. Gladio’s never even heard him utter her name.   
  
What’s worse, Ignis has never smiled at him like that, and probably never will.  
  
“Who’s that? Your girlfriend?” he says roughly.  
  
Ignis’s head snaps up, and his eyes narrow. “I beg your pardon?”  
  
Gladio grits his teeth and looks away, waving a hand dismissively. He’s letting his jealousy talk again. There’s no way Ignis would fuck around on a significant other. There’s gotta be more to this Eirene story. Right? “Nothing. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
“Gladio—”  
  
Whatever else he has to say gets cut off by the shower door slamming between them. Gladio lets the shower run as hot as it’ll go, and then he steps under the spray, washing any lingering trace of Ignis from his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down. On to the next! Thank you for keeping up with this story!


	17. Ignis

Ignis replays the evening's events on an almost continuous loop once he’s home. Initially he assumes it’s the thrill of an elicit liaison, the danger of discovery, the act itself, but there’s a jarring, discordant note that plays in his mind, colouring the memory with something darker that he can’t quite place.

After a while he finds it's starting to make sense, piece by piece, detail by detail. It’s not his hands on Gladio's body that he’s remembering, nor the sounds of the other man coming undone beneath his mouth. It’s Gladio's _expression_ before, during and after. Mostly after. He thinks of Gladio's face. Of something undefinable in the other man's eyes.

It’s frustrating.

Ignis knows he’s an intelligent man, and as a result, very little tends to elude his considerable acumen. But trying to make sense of Gladio's motivations is... complicated. Was Gladio so injured by what happened at his house? Initially he’d assumed that Gladio's pride in his reputation as a skilful lover was the source of his refusal to accept the apology, but somehow, inexplicably, it seems what he’d said after that fateful moment has wounded Gladio more.

It makes no sense, but there it is.

He doesn’t sleep well. Tangled in the bouts of restlessness are dreams that provoke more questions than they answer. In the one that he can recall when he wakens, Gladio is the dance instructor he sources to tutor Noct. Despite the fact that Noct is a keen and diligent student - a clear indication that this is a dream, undoubtedly - Gladio's expression never shifts from that look of sorrowed disappointment. Indignant on behalf of his charge, Ignis opens his mouth to question it, then realises that Gladio's gaze has been fixed on him the entire time.

Awake, he rakes over the poorly-veiled symbolism of the dream. The performance wasn’t the issue. It’s more complex than that. Maybe it always has been. There’s no 'this happened and then that happened'; no corollary that could have been spotted a mile off. So with that in mind, how does he even begin to find a solution? Because despite the confusion and the unpleasant messiness of it all, the one thing he’s certain of is that he doesn’t like being at odds with Gladio.

Once again, this is clearly something out of his skill set, because this isn’t a political negotiation with obvious goals for what each party wants. He thought their stalls were clearly set out about what this is and what it isn’t, their battle lines drawn in the sand. Yet someone or something is erasing them at every turn, redrawing them and redrawing them until it’s impossible to determine where Gladio's start and his begin.

The ambiguity is anathema to him.

Gladio's continued interest in him is something else he can’t fathom. Gladio is attractive - and attracted - to members of both sexes. Despite his flaws, he has many admirable qualities, and there are few who could find fault with his physical appearance. It therefore begs the question why Gladio has pursued him so doggedly? Gladio could have literally anyone, and yet as far as Ignis is aware, Gladio isn't pursuing anyone else like this.

If it was simply about bragging rights then surely once would have been enough. Gladio's actions however say different though - indeed, the man himself had seemed angered by the idea that he’d only done it to impress his friends in the Crownsguard. So what, then?

He lies in bed feeling bone-weary as he tries to make sense of everything. Last night, he could have sworn Gladio said something about a girlfriend. Lost in an old photograph Eirene had emailed him, he wasn’t sure what Gladio had said exactly, but when he’d asked him to repeat it, the other man had shrugged him off gruffly. He’d caught a glimpse of Gladio's expression though, just before he’d turned away.

He’d looked... _jealous_? Ridiculous.

“For goodness sake, get a grip,” he mutters to his empty bedroom, draping his arm across his eyes.

Gladio's just probably trying to work out if he has a similar 'friends with benefits' type arrangement with anyone else. Whether by accident or design, the details of each other's sex lives has never come up so it’s entirely natural for Gladio to wonder about it. It occurs to him then that Gladio may be engaging in sexual liaisons with others and he realises that he doesn’t know how he feels about that, even though the logical part of his brain says it’s none of his business.

Reluctantly, he shifts his attention to his schedule and everything he has to achieve today. It’s a long list. The gala is now four days away and there’s still much to do. Gladio wasn’t wrong about there being an event committee to handle the bulk of the arrangements, but there’s always a benefit to having an extra pair of eyes. He remembers Gladio's jibe about the cake. Of course he isn’t baking it, but then again, who knows Noct's specific tastes better than him? It would be remiss of him not to at least have a _hand_ in its planning.

And then there’s the dance instructor. Plus today he needs to ensure that Noctis attends his appointment with the royal tailor for his suit fitting, in case there are any last-minute alterations needed.

He should get up.

Beneath the sheets, he feels the stirring of an erection. His hand moves down to touch it almost as reflexively as his mind conjures Gladio to complete the scene. Eyes closed, he pushes his underwear down to free the trapped length, sighing in relief once it’s out. Not wanting to drag the sensitive skin in its unlubricated state, his hand moves slowly, thumb stroking lazily across the head. To match this less frenetic pace, he imagines Gladio in bed beside him, the other man's calloused hand making his skin shiver and his muscles jump as it travels slowly, teasingly, toward the most sensitive part of his body.

In his imagination, it feels like a Sunday morning - a rare moment of relaxation when there is little to do and no pressing state business - or Noct business - to attend to. Gladio is smiling, his eyes journeying in tandem with his hands. The expression on his face is soft and reverent. Eyes closed, Ignis drinks in the sight as his hand strokes his shaft languorously.

He tries to ignore the fact that he’s picturing Gladio this way. He tells himself it’s because he’s tired - that he can’t muster up the energy to visualise one of their usual liaisons, characterised by bodies pressed against the nearest flat surface as they go at each other like they’re trying to score points - but something protests indignantly at the back of his mind like an imperious voice of reason.

He wonders when he last thought of anyone else whilst masturbating. Actors he would have defaulted to in the past have been thoroughly cast aside, so whilst the scenes may change, it’s only Gladio he pictures now.

It’s inevitable that he increases the pace after a couple of minutes at this slower speed. Now he imagines Gladio beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted by the ragged noises that escape his throat. The image of him thrusting into Gladio is a powerful one. He focuses on the minutiae - the way Gladio's fingers blanch as he grips the edge of the bed, the sounds he makes caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Finally he imagines Gladio saying his name with a raw vulnerability that belies the other man's ferocity. That only he gets to hear his name said in this manner is what gives Ignis that final surge toward orgasm. His breath hitches and he comes, back arching off the bed until the sensations start to recede.

Too quickly, his mind strikes up the familiar refrain that he needs to get up and get on with his duties. For once, it’s not an unwelcome intrusion because it means he can stop thinking about Gladio, for now at least.

But first, a shower.

OoOoO

The day kicks off in earnest and never lets up. The fitting appointment goes well, despite Noct's grumbling about the elaborateness of the dress suit and the tightness of the collar and the stiffness of the fabric and well, just about _everything_. If possible, the meeting with the dance instructor is even less successful. Whilst Noct's combat training with Gladio is coming along well when the prince's energy levels and his enthusiasm are in rare but perfect alignment, his aptitude for the Altissian Quickstep is less obvious. Patrice Evette is a venerated teacher, but possesses too fiery a temperament and too little patience with his reluctant pupil, and Ignis spends the best part of the hour - an hour in which he’d been hoping to get some other work done - mediating between the two of them.

The return journey is spent listening to Noct venting about how he wishes he wasn’t part of the royal family because ' _this is gonna be a pretty crappy birthday, thank you very much_ '. In an attempt to steer this particular bus away from the cliff, he agrees to cook for Noct and Prompto, who is invited over and accepts with alacrity, knowing good food is in the offing. Ignis picks at his own meal as he catches up on emails, simultaneously trying to tune out the too-loud conversation about whatever video game the other two have got paused while they eat.

When they’re done, he washes up and has a quick tidy around, lest the kitchen becomes a health hazard. He admonishes Noct for the moulding bread he’s left out on the countertop, then nips down the road to the nearest convenience store to buy him a fresh loaf for the morning. With that done, he bids them goodnight with a firm but almost certainly unheeded reminder not to stay up too late.

Arriving home, he toes off his shoes, the weariness of this morning coming back with a vengeance as his bed calls to him like a siren. Coffee is the first order of business in order to fuel himself through another few hours of work before he retires for the night. As he waits for the water to boil, he figures he could probably use a sandwich too, but when he reaches for the bread, he’s met with a few sorry looking slices, edged in green. He disposes of them with a sigh, and sets about fixing the coffee.

When he finally climbs into bed at two a.m. he checks his phone one final time and finally realises the source of the disquiet that’s followed him around all day.

There are no messages from Gladio.

OoOoO

The feeling continues to follow him, despite the fact that he absolutely should be totally focussed on other matters. When he’s at the citadel, he finds himself engineering situations where he needs to go near Gladio's office at the gym, but of the times he actually follows through with it, none of them result in him actually seeing the other man. Even their regular meetings to discuss Noct's progress both with and without Regis have been postponed whilst the gala preparations take precedence.

It takes him a while to admit to himself that the radio silence is killing him. Maybe Gladio hasn’t really forgiven him for what he said. Maybe Gladio has used the lack of contact to consider this complicated thing between them and decided to cut the Gordian Knot. Eventually though, he can bear it no longer.

He picks up his phone and swipes the screen. Navigating to the messages between Gladio and himself, his stomach flips a little at the glimpse of the photograph Gladio sent to him prior to their disastrous encounter at Gladio's home. The final message sits like a memorial to better times.

 **Gladiolus (08/27, 11:55 PM):** see you in a bit. :-)

His thumb circles the keypad as he realises that he has no idea what to actually say. Should he get straight to the point or send something innocuous to gauge Gladio's reaction first? After a minute's contemplation, he settles on the latter.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:53 AM):** Did Iris enjoy the poetry book?

The instant he hits 'send' it feels like a mistake. On one hand, if the message is completely ignored, it confirms his suspicions that Gladio hasn’t forgiven him at all, but his phone pings and a reply appears before the screen has even had the chance to go black.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:53 AM):** yeah. thanks again.

On the other hand though, Gladio may have felt obliged to reply out of politeness, and is now annoyed that he’s been forced to communicate. He sends two messages in quick succession.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:54 AM):** Good. I’m glad she liked it.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:54 AM):** How are you?

The reply to this doesn’t come quite as quickly. A couple of times there’s a flash of the symbol that says Gladio is typing something, but it disappears and nothing comes through. The anxiety this causes only subsides when the message finally appears.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:55 AM):** fine. been busy with security shit for noct's bday.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:55 AM):** you?

It’s hardly on the level of semi-naked photographs or promises of pleasure, but the lines of communication are at least open. More confident now, he sends back two messages.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:56 AM):** Busy also

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:56 AM):** I was thinking of training tonight if you’re free?

The typing symbol pops up again. Barely ten seconds have passed before Gladio's next message comes through and that ascending hope that things are alright between them nosedives again.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:56 AM):** sorry. jared's sick so i gotta take iris to and from piano lessons.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:57 AM):** Tomorrow maybe?

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:57 AM):** nope. i have a security meeting with my dad. it's probably gonna run late.

He stares at his phone, willing himself to interpret the correct meaning behind the back to back refusals. He doesn’t doubt Gladio's got engagements - after all, he’s Noct's shield in all but official bestowing of the title, and with several hundred people including a whole host of foreign dignitaries about to descend on the palace he’s going to be up to his eyes in security procedures - but it feels like there’s something else wrapped around those poorly punctuated sentences that Gladio's expecting him to take notice of.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:58 AM):** Oh. Okay then. I hope the meeting goes well.

He puts his phone down on his desk, then snatches it up just as quickly to add something else.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:58 AM):** Feel free to text me if you do have some free time.

Even this doesn’t feel like enough though. For someone as skilled with words as he is, he’s making a lamentable mess of this. Eyes closed for a moment, he exhales slowly, then ignores his better judgment to add a third message to the conversation.

 **Ignis (08/29, 09:58 AM):** I would like to see you.

There. He’s said it. His pulse quickens as he waits for a response. He couldn’t really be any clearer about his intentions, so the ball is now firmly in Gladio's court. He turns to face the window, gazing at nothing in particular when his phone pings, signalling he’s got his answer.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:59 AM):** i'll see you at our meeting thursday, but i won't have time otherwise.

 **Gladio (08/29, 09:59 AM):** sorry.

Oh.

It’s hardly long or complex, but he re-reads the message several times, unable to decide if the 'sorry' at the end makes things better or worse.

He certainly knows which one he feels.

OoOoO

He does catch a glimpse of Gladio over the next couple of days, but there’s so much going on there’s no time for anything beyond a brief nod at each other across the conference room table as they attend the final pre-gala meeting. Security protocols and itineraries for the evening are run through and as soon as the meeting is brought to a close, Gladio is out of his seat and leaving the room with Cor and Drautos. It feels like another blow, which Ignis suffers silently, head bowed, whilst pretending to look at his notes.

Anger floods his system hotly, catching him off guard. All of a sudden he feels wounded and wronged. He never pushed for this _thing_ between them. He was satisfied to focus on work and confine whatever attraction he felt for Gladio to his imagination. For a man so insistent that he cares, Gladio certainly has a funny way of showing it. He’s no business making Ignis feel like this. Resolute that he can bear these feelings no longer, he stands quickly, determined to follow after Gladio and insist for a moment of the other man's time in private. Maybe if he says what's on his mind, he can return to concentrating on his duties.

Gladio's making it pretty clear that there’s nothing left to destroy between them, anyway.

He stands quickly, his hands finding the edge of the table as his head swims sharply in protest at the sudden movement. He blinks, feeling strangely out of it for a moment, the world edged in green. The sounds of the conversation fade out like someone is turning down the volume.

“Ignis? Are you okay?”

A voice cuts through the fog and he turns to see Regis looking across at him, expression concerned. Clarus Amicitia is standing next to him, frowning slightly as well.

“You look quite pale,” Regis continues, to which Clarus nods in agreement. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

Before he can protest, Regis turns to another of the assembled men. “Titus? Can you pour Ignis some water please?”

He can feel several sets of eyes upon him as he sinks back into his seat. Suddenly he’s grateful that Gladio left so quickly.

“I can send for the royal physician to check you over?” Regis offers.

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty,” he replies, working to keep his voice even. “It’s simply a little dizziness from standing up too quickly.”

“If you’re sure.”

He nods his thanks as a glass is placed in front of him by Regis's head of staff, the water blessedly cool as he takes a careful sip. His wounded anger is now layered with embarrassment. Even though it’s unfair to blame Gladio for his admittedly rather haphazard self-care, the other man is more than responsible for his lack of focus. There’s no _reason_ why Gladio should make him feel like this. It just doesn’t make any sense. The only solution is to see the other man face to face and hope it leads to some kind of epiphany.

This time he stands more slowly and thankfully does so without incident. He bows to Regis and the other senior members of the king's council and exits the chambers, but as he suspected, Gladio is long gone.

OoOoO

In the midst of all this frantic planning is Noct's actual birthday. For a myriad reasons - mostly relating to lack of time and energy - Ignis dreads the inevitable night on the town, but finds there’s a part of him curiously anticipating being forced into close quarters with Gladio, who must always accompany his charge on outings such as this. The anger he felt toward Gladio at the meeting has burned away again, replaced with a bewildering sense of sadness that he’s lost something that meant more than he’d initially realised.

It’s too late, though. Gladio has evidently decided that arm's length is how he wants their relationship to be from now on, and he has to respect that, no matter how much it goes against his own feelings.

It’s impossible to decide if he’s relieved or not when Noct announces he's not bothered about going out and wants to do takeaway and beers at his apartment instead. Ignis spends the day hypothesising about what it will be like seeing Gladio and whether there’ll be opportunity for them to talk, but it never comes to pass - because of other duties he can only stay for a couple of hours and Gladio has text Noct to say he will only be able to come by later, so they never cross paths.

What is perhaps less of a surprise is the confirmation that Noct hasn’t finished the speech he’s expected to give at the gala. Ignis probes a little further and discovers 'not finished' is Noct-speak for 'thought about it briefly, but couldn’t be bothered actually starting anything'. Noct then turns on the charm offensive, whilst simultaneously pointing out that Ignis writing it for him would make an _excellent_ birthday gift. Naturally this is on top of the new fishing equipment he’d already been given, but from the smile on Noct's face, the prince knows this battle has already been won.

Ignis adds the speech onto the seemingly endless list of reminders on his phone and goes back to nursing the beer Noct foisted on him earlier on. When Noct isn’t looking, he drains it down the sink, then makes his excuses and leaves before the pizza - and Gladio - appear.

OoOoO

More errands. More coffee. Less sleep. His phone pings almost constantly, but none of the messages are from Gladio. There’s a last minute panic when they realise there’s a guest coming who uses some arcane Tenebraen dialect, which no one else in the citadel can speak. He’s fairly fluent in Tenebraen himself, and has varying skill in a few other languages, but an almost dead dialect is beyond even him, and he's forced to spend the best part of that last afternoon - already earmarked for other duties - trying to source an interpreter.

At long last, there appears to be light at the end of this particularly exhausting tunnel as the evening draws in. Noct is safely installed his apartment, his finished suit hanging, neatly pressed, in the closet. As Ignis leaves, he extracts a promise from the prince that he'll read over the speech he’s written for him so he’s at least familiar with it at the point where he has to stand up and deliver it in front of over three hundred guests. And also that he won’t stay up late. Unsurprisingly, Noct rolls his eyes at this and shoos him on his way, dryly suggesting that maybe he should get a good night's sleep too.

And he intends to do just that, but not before returning to the citadel to check over the ballroom one final time. The decorators have been hard at work for the best part of the day, but on occasion in the past their attention to detail can be a little lacking for his tastes. It won’t hurt to check over what they’ve done, then he can go home and rest easy, knowing everything is as it should be.

He parks in the garage and makes his way through the citadel, stopping off at the kitchens first. As expected, they’re a hive of activity. Almost the entire kitchen personnel have been drafted in for the preparations and the noise levels and the harsh overhead fluorescents give him an instant headache as he seeks out the head chef to check on Noct's cake.

With that ticked off his list, he makes for the ballroom, hoping to be wowed. He sat in on most of the planning meetings, hammering out the details of the event, so his expectations are high. He greets the reality with a wearied sigh. The entire room - already an impressive work of architecture with its gilt and marble columns and its painted fresco ceiling - looks good, but the centrepieces on each of the forty round tables have been assembled incorrectly, so that the starburst decorations that top them don’t all face the same direction. The whole point was that they were to be lit, creating a stunning aesthetic as the guests descended the grand staircase when they go to dine.

A glance around tells him there’s no one here, leaving the job squarely on his shoulders, unless he wastes time phoning around trying to track people down to help. Spying a toolbox and a set of ladders leaning against one of the walls, he shrugs out of his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. Mentally he tries to calculate how long it’s going to take him to fix almost all of them, knowing the answer will mean a lot less sleep.

Two hours in, he can feel himself flagging. The centrepieces are ten feet high and he’s lost track of how many times he’s been up and down the ladders to disconnect the top section, carry them to the ground and then re-fit the starburst decoration, before taking them back up and screwing them back in place before checking that they work. He’s had to pause a couple of times as the room starts to feel unbearably warm. He contemplates going back to the kitchens to beg a snack and some coffee, in the hope that this will rouse him a little, but figures the staff there have enough to be doing without catering for him, and the sooner he gets done, the sooner he can head home.

Turning his attention to the next one, he climbs the ladders and starts to unscrew the top section. This time the screws are tight and he's concentrating so hard that he doesn’t hear the door opening behind him and someone stepping into the room.

“Just finding Noct a dance instructor, _my ass_.”

Gladio moves into his eye line, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. Even sweaty and dishevelled from a workout he looks amazing. Gladio's surveying the room and frowning, like he's not entirely sure what’s going on.

“Are you planning on doing all of these?”

“Yes,” he replies through gritted teeth as he tries to work the screw free. “They’re supposed to be facing the same way so you can see them from the staircase.”

Using his upper arm, he wipes his forehead, which is now running with sweat. His limbs feel loose and almost like they’re not his own. He’s only halfway through and the last thing he needs now is an argument with Gladio, who's bound to tell him it doesn’t matter and that he’s being ridiculous. He goes to say something, but realises, belatedly, that he can’t hear his own voice. He thinks, but can’t be sure, that Gladio is calling his name, although why he’s saying it with such urgency is beyond him. And then.

The next thing he’s aware of is the sensation of being pressed up against something warm and solid. It's a _nice_ feeling, and even though he’s no idea what's going on, something subconsciously encourages him to hold tight to this comfort and never let go. He moves his arms and finds something sturdy to loop them around, locking his fingers together to give him better purchase. Now he can hear himself saying something, but he’s no idea what. Then suddenly there’s a sensation of movement, a swaying rhythm that’s soothing in its regularity.

Through the fog of a headache and the roar of his pulse in his ears, he finally figures out what’s going on. For reasons he can’t entirely fathom at this precise moment, he’s being carried. By Gladio.

Gladio is carrying him.

And - _oh, six have mercy_ \- he’s got his arms around Gladio's neck, like everything about this is perfectly acceptable. Which, obviously, it isn’t.

“Gladio,” he groans, finding his voice at last. “Put me down.”

“Nope.”

“Gladio... really must insist...”

He tilts his head back a little, trying to make eye contact, but Gladio continues to stare straight ahead as he strides to the exit. He swallows and tries again, slowly letting his arms fall.

“ _Please_ , Gladio.”

This proves more successful and Gladio finally stops walking.

“You can put me down. I’m fine.”

Gladio makes a doubtful face, but he obliges and lowers Ignis's legs to the ground. What Ignis hasn’t accounted for is the fact that someone has swapped his lower limbs for noodles and it instantly becomes clear that he’s not going to be able to bear his own weight. Thank goodness for Gladio's skepticism, because the other man is ready to catch him, having never really relinquished his hold in the first place.

With a quirked eyebrow that says ' _told you so_ ' as clearly as if the words had passed Gladio's lips, Ignis finds himself scooped up once more. This time he spares himself the indignity of trying to convince Gladio to put him down again. Reluctantly - but just to stabilise himself, mind you - he puts his arms back around Gladio's neck, pointedly ignoring the flicker of amusement that passes across Gladio's face when he does so.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks wearily.

Gladio glances at him now like he’s lost his mind. “Home. Where’d you think?”

“But I need to finish up here.”

“Iggy. You just fainted and fell off a ladder. You're lucky I’m not takin' you to the damned hospital.”

“Nonsense,” he replies as indignantly as he can manage. “I simply lost my footing and fell.”

“Sure, Iggy,” Gladio growls, rolling his eyes. “You keep tellin' yourself that.”

It seems the gods are prepared to show a little mercy as there's no one around to witness his humiliation on their journey down to the parking garage. When they reach Gladio's car, the other man finally allows him down, but only once he’s got the vehicle to lean against whilst he waits for Gladio to find his keys.

“My own car's here.”

Gladio snorts as he presses the fob to unlock the doors. “Oh yeah; you reckon I’m actually gonna let you drive anywhere? Get in.”

Meekly, he does as he’s told, sinking into the seat and closing his eyes. The car rocks slightly as Gladio climbs in beside him and starts up the engine. He tries to think of something to say to fill the painfully awkward silence, but the ability to start any conversation, let alone any of the ones he needs to have with Gladio, eludes him. Gladio doesn’t speak either, and inevitably he finds himself drifting off to sleep.

He jerks back to wakefulness when the car comes to a stop. Blinking myopically, he looks out of the window to find he’s outside his apartment building, before he turns to see Gladio watching him closely.

“Think you can walk?”

He nods. “Thank you for bringing me home, Gladio. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Uh uh.”

His hand pauses on the door handle at this denial. “I’m sorry?”

Gladio inclines his head toward the building as he pulls the keys from the ignition. “I’m comin' up with you.”

Something hopeful blossoms in his chest. He studies Gladio's expression for a moment, before he nods again, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

“Very well.”

Together they make their way up to his apartment in silence. They’re barely through the door when Gladio's hand is on his arm.

“You’re gettin' straight into bed. No arguments, okay?”

He glances at Gladio's utterly serious expression and nods.

“When did you last eat?” Gladio asks, before he can walk away.

Too tired to think, the answer doesn’t come readily and he shrugs. Gladio frowns deeply.

“Goddamnit, Iggy. How can you not even remember?” Gladio shakes his head before his expression softens suddenly. “Just go get in bed and I’ll bring something in.”

Alone in his bedroom, he removes his glasses and rubs his eyes for a moment. He can hear Gladio moving around in his kitchen as he strips down to his boxers, throws on a t-shirt and climbs under the covers. From the other room he hears Gladio curse at something. The sheets are gloriously cool and the second his head hits the pillow he feels like he could sleep for a week. But if Gladio's coming in here, the last thing he needs is to look like he wants the other man to go so he can get some rest.

Eventually the door opens and Gladio walks in carrying a glass of water and a plate and wearing a disgruntled expression.

“Sit up,” he orders as he rounds the bed. He places the water on the nightstand and parks himself halfway up the mattress. “You’re gonna eat this.”

Crackers with peanut butter spread thickly on the top. Ignis eyes the plate dubiously; he’s not really even a _fan_ of peanut butter, having only bought it at Noct's behest for when he occasionally comes over. It doesn’t stop Gladio from pushing the plate into his hands.

“I'd have put it on a banana or somethin', but you don’t have any. Ditto for bread. Or _food_ for that matter. Seriously, Iggy. You know coffee's not a food group, right?”

He fixes Gladio with a half-hearted glare as he takes a tentative bite of the first cracker, trying to ignore the unsettling but very real prospect of crumbs in his bed. Gladio sighs and scrubs a hand across his jaw.

“You know, for someone who rides Noct's ass so much about being healthy, you ain’t so good at practisin' what you preach.”

“I’ve been busy,” he says sharply, “My workload has been more hectic of late with the gala coming up, and our assignations have also meant I’m not here as much. I do eat you know; I just tend to do it when I’m out.”

Gladio nods, but it’s clear he’s not convinced as he gnaws on his thumbnail in contemplation. Ignis returns his attention to the crackers, chewing quietly.

“How tall are you Iggy?”

He looks up and frowns, not sure why this is relevant. “Six feet, exactly. Why?”

Gladio doesn’t respond for a moment. He seems to be warring with himself for a moment, presumably about what he wants to say and the reaction it will provoke.

“Because I get that you’re a completely different body type to me, but I’ve just carried you through the citadel and I’m pretty sure someone of your height should be carrying a few more pounds.”

Instinctively he feels defensive, like Gladio is looking for ways to criticise him again, but it’s impossible to ignore or misinterpret the worry on Gladio's face. Admittedly, his clothes have definitely seemed a little looser recently, but with so much else going on it’s not like he’s really given it that much thought. After a moment he smiles shyly and looks away.

“And here's me thinking you’d be using this as an opportunity to crow about how strong you are,” he replies softly.

He glances up in time to see the solemnity melt out of Gladio's expression, replaced by apparent relief that his comments haven’t lit the fuse for another all-out row.

“It’s only because I—”

“Care. I know. You’ve said.” He meets Gladio's gaze. “I’m sorry I didn't believe you.”

Gladio smiles too, but doesn’t say anything else and the silence continues for minute or so as Ignis turns his attention back to the crackers. Once he’s finished, he puts the empty plate on the nightstand and takes a long drink of the water, awash with relief that the bridge between them hasn’t been destroyed completely.

He opens his mouth to say the other man's name at the exact moment Gladio says, “I should go.”

Before Gladio can stand, Ignis takes hold of his arm and draws him in for a kiss. Their lips meet, tentatively at first so they’re barely touching. It’s completely unlike any of the other times they’ve kissed in the past, when their mouths have simply been an outlet for their anger or the molten sexual tension between them.

And although he’s not looking to initiate their usual frenetic pace, he desperately doesn’t want it to stop here. Gladio is being surprisingly chaste, so he deepens the kiss to send a clear signal that he wants things to go further. To emphasise this point, his other hand seeks out the spot between Gladio’s legs, but before he can truly gauge the other man's level of interest, Gladio catches hold of his hand, his grip gentle but firm all the same.

“Iggy...”

“Please stay, Gladio.”

“I can’t. Besides, you need to get some rest. Remember it’s the gala tomorrow, and I know without checkin' your schedule that you’ll have a million more jobs to do before anyone actually arrives.”

It’s true, but it doesn’t make him want Gladio any less; doesn’t make him any less paranoid that Gladio is using it as an excuse to get away. He nods, unable to meet the other man's gaze until Gladio catches him under the chin and tilts his head up before offering him a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll try.”

Only once his front door has clicked shut does he lie back down. He needs to think about what this all means, whilst trying to ignore the fact that the simplest answer - that Gladio still believes the relationship between them is over, and tonight is simply an act of kindness from one human to another - is the most likely one.

Contrary to the bout of insomnia he’s certain he’ll have, he sleeps, and never once stirs.

OoOoO

The panic that he’s overslept kicks in the second his eyes fly open. He wonders why his alarm hasn’t woken him - then remembers he never actually set it because.... _Gladio_. A glance at his phone reveals it’s only half five so he’s not late yet, but the knowledge doesn’t ease his anxiety any. The distance between Gladio and himself feels too much of a weight for his spirits to be raised so easily.

He can’t dwell on it though, not today. There’s simply too much to do.

He dresses quickly, because the first order of business is to get back to the citadel to finish off the centrepieces. If he’s remembering rightly, he’s got about another fifteen of them to do, which unfortunately will cut significantly into the next item on his To Do list, but it’s unavoidable.

With his car still at the citadel, he hails a cab to take him back there. On the journey he checks his emails and as he’s doing so a text message pings from Eirene.

 **Eirene (09/02 07:02 AM):** Hope you get to enjoy the gala. Can’t wait to see you in your suit. I love you.

The cab comes to a halt outside the citadel gates, so he hurriedly sends back _Love you too_ , before paying the driver and hopping out.

In deference to Gladio's concerns for him, he detours to the coffee shop near the citadel and grabs some muffins to go with his coffee, which he hastily eats as he hurries through the palace corridors. The place is abuzz, and he nods to people as he passes, pleased to see others looking similarly focused as they go about their business.

He enters the ballroom via the grand stairs and... stops.

All of the starburst centrepieces are now faced toward him and even though they’re not lit, the effect is still spectacular. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement and realises that there’s someone else in here. It’s a young guy dressed in maintenance overalls and he’s kneeling over one of the spotlights that mark out the edge of the dance floor. Ignis goes down the steps and heads over to him, grateful and relieved that someone else shares his attention to detail.

“Excuse me?” he says as he approaches the man. “Did you do all these?” He gestures to the tables behind him.

The man frowns, offering him a helpless shrug as he murmurs an apology in Galahdian. Ignis has a reasonable command of Galahdian, so he repeats the question and the man smiles, but shakes his head.

“No, Sir. It wasn’t me. It was another man.”

One of the event committee members, perhaps. He’s mulling this over when the man continues, his broad Galahdian accent something of a challenge to follow.

“He was very tall with dark hair.” The man mimes a person of stocky stature.

Ignis frowns for a moment, pondering both the comment and the necessary vocabulary for his response. “Did he have tattoos on his arms?”

“Yes!” the man says, enthusiastically. “Like, feathers? My friend was on duty. He said the man was here most of the night fixing them.”

 _Gladio_.

Gladio came back, after insisting he go home and get some rest. Gladio, whom he’d assumed would laugh at his need for this small detail to be perfect. Gladio, whom despite his own fairly sizeable list of duties for this royal event, has come back and completed this work.

For him.

The workman is still looking at him, so he thanks him and leaves. He hurries from the ballroom down to the gym in the hope he can find Gladio before he has to start on the next of the day's tasks. Not surprising though, both the gym and Gladio's office are empty, the likelihood being that Gladio is already at the Crownsguard briefing session that's scheduled to start shortly. He pulls out his phone and starts to compose a long, rambling message about how truly grateful he is for what Gladio's done for him, and how he’ll never forget it and then stops. With a frown, he hits delete and retypes - _Thank you_ \- before hitting send.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we say this every time we post a chapter, but thank you so much to everyone who leaves kudos or a comment to say you’re enjoying this fic. Seeing people's anticipation has truly been what's kept me working on this chapter, so _thank you_. This one’s for you all. I really hope you enjoy it.  <3
> 
> You can follow us on tumblr:
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> @sauronix  
> @hellomynameisswordy
> 
> Thank you as always to Sauronix for RPing the boys' text exchange!


	18. Gladio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, guys! Here's 11,000 words of fic. Thanks for sticking with us on this journey!

Gladio stifles a yawn in his fist and takes another sip of his coffee. It’s been cold for a while now, but it’s the only thing keeping him awake. He was at the Citadel until two in the morning fixing all those centrepieces for Ignis, and then his alarm woke him for his workout at five-thirty. It was worth it, knowing Ignis would get a solid night of shut-eye, but falling asleep in the middle of Cor’s security briefing for the gala tonight is the last thing he needs. He’d never hear the end of it from his dad. Fuck, he could forget about being made Shield anytime this decade, let alone this year.  
  
_Come on, Amicitia. Focus._  
  
“The Kingsglaive will be monitoring the perimeter of the building,” Cor’s saying. “The rest of you will be patrolling the halls. Our latest intelligence reports suggest there won’t be any danger, but let me stress that you’re to be on alert at all times…”  
  
Gladio zones out again. He’s only at this briefing as a formality. He won’t be patrolling the halls with his fellow Crownsguard, and he won’t be mingling like Ignis and all the rest of Insomnia’s diplomats. Instead, he gets to stand at the head of the room, never more than ten feet away from Noct, and sweat his ass off in his ceremonial robes as he watches the rest of the gala guests enjoy themselves.  
  
Sometimes being Shield-in-waiting ain’t such a sweet deal.  
  
His phone vibrates on the table. The display wakes to show a message notification from Ignis, and despite himself, he perks up like he’s just downed a triple-shot of Ebony espresso. He swipes the screen to open the text.  
  
_Thank you_ , it says.  
  
That’s it. Short and sweet. But it makes Gladio smile, because it’s so Ignis, and after the kiss they shared last night, after Ignis practically begged him not to leave, there’s no way he can doubt its sincerity.  
  
His thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating. Should he respond? He wants to. He wants to keep this conversation going, now that things seem…okay between them. Even if Ignis only kissed him to smooth things over—to end the bitterness between them, for the sake of their working relationship—hell, it worked. Gladio didn’t go back to the Citadel to fix all those centrepieces just to prove a point. He didn’t do it to show Ignis he’s a good guy—a guy worth noticing, a guy worth choosing. He did it because he wanted to make Ignis happy.  
  
But…  
  
Why bother chasing someone who doesn’t want him? Ignis might care about him in a professional capacity, maybe even as an acquaintance, but he’s already made it clear he doesn’t want Gladio for anything more than an easy fuck. If Gladio asked him out for dinner and a movie, Ignis would say no and demand they never speak of it again, maybe shut him out entirely. At this point, Gladio’s just torturing himself, holding out hope for something that’ll never happen.  
  
_Please stay, Gladio._  
  
Those words, spoken to him so softly, have been looping in his head since the minute they left Ignis’s mouth. They’ve had great sex, but that ain’t the only thing Gladio cares about now. Fuck, he can’t deny it anymore—he’s got it bad for Ignis, hell, he’s half in love with him. What he felt last night when Ignis came on to him wasn’t sexual. It was tender. Protective.  
  
A little bit sad.  
  
He wants Ignis to want him, and only him, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything to Ignis when they kiss.  
  
There’s also the matter of Eirene, the mystery name in Ignis’s phone. Is Ignis fucking someone else on the side? Hell, is he _dating_ someone else? Rationally, it doesn’t seem likely, but Gladio can’t stop thinking about the fond way he smiled at his phone the other night in the locker room. It shouldn’t bother him so much that Ignis never looks at him like that, not when Ignis has been clear about his boundaries from the get-go, but it does. He didn’t even get a smile last night when Ignis was pawing between his legs—  
  
“Gladio, are you listening?”  
  
Cor’s voice breaks into his thoughts, and Gladio looks up, his face flushing when he realizes everyone in the room is staring at him.  
  
“Uh, yeah.” He turns his phone face-down on the table and shifts in his chair. “Sorry, Marshal. Didn’t mean any disrespect.”  
  
Cor raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, instead turning back to his whiteboard and the diagram of the ballroom he’s drawn on it with green marker. Gladio rubs at his eyes and forces down another mouthful of coffee, trying to make himself as small as possible in his chair.  
  
He doesn’t respond to Ignis.

  
*

  
The rest of the day passes in a whirlwind of meetings, drills, and errands, and he’s way too busy to spare Ignis another thought. When Cor dismisses them from the security briefing, he meets his dad for lunch in his office to go over his duties for the night.  
  
_You’ll be sitting next to the prince during dinner_ , his dad says, and once the plates are cleared, you must be like his shadow. _And let me stress, Gladiolus, that this is not a social engagement for you. Am I understood?_ Gladio’s heard this speech a hundred times over the past month, but he nods like the dutiful son anyway, inwardly resigning himself to a long, boring night of nothing.  
  
After that, he’s scheduled to teach a shield-handling class for new Crownsguard recruits, which he follows with a workout and a shower. With that out of the way, he goes to the barber to get his beard trimmed, and then heads to the dry cleaner to pick up his suit, a stuffy black button down with a stiff collar that he’s expected to wear under his ceremonial robes.  
  
He gets back to the Citadel at five-thirty—an hour and a half before the gala is supposed to start—and finds Iris in his office, spinning gleefully in his desk chair.  
  
“Gladdy!” she says, bouncing to her feet as soon as he enters.  
  
“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?” Gladio asks as he hangs his suit on the back of the door. “I thought Jared was bringing you later.”  
  
“He was,” Iris says, “but I was bored, so I asked him to drive me in early. Can I help you get ready?”  
  
Gladio rubs at his freshly-trimmed beard, blowing out a breath. “I guess, but there isn’t much left to do. Just gotta get dressed.”  
  
“You need to do something with your hair.” She grabs his hand and tugs him over to the chair, forcing him to sit. “You can’t stand up in front of all of Insomnia’s best families with a rat’s nest on your head.”  
  
“It’s not a rat’s nest.”  
  
Iris combs a hand through his hair, gently working out the tangles. “Oh, please, Gladdy, it looks like you haven’t conditioned it in a year. You’re never gonna get a girlfriend looking like this.”  
  
Gladio snorts. A girlfriend ain’t exactly on his list of priorities, but Iris has a point. Ignis is gonna be there, probably decked out in his best suit, and Gladio wants to impress him. Maybe if he goes in there looking hot, Ignis will come to his goddamn senses and realize he’s been missing out on something good. So he sits back without complaint, watching as Iris grabs a bag she stashed under the desk and takes out a comb and a pink spray can.  
  
“It smells like berries,” she says apologetically, shaking it as she steps up behind him.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Dry conditioner.” She places a hand over his forehead to protect his eyes and sprays it liberally into his hair. He coughs as a cloud of chemical mist envelops him. “It’ll make your hair smooth and shiny.”  
  
“Yeah, and it’s gonna stink up the place tonight.”  
  
“No one’s going to notice. And if they do, they’ll probably think you smell great.” She puts the can on the desk and begins to comb the conditioner through his hair. They’re silent for a few minutes before she asks, in a sugary voice she always uses when she’s fishing for information, “So, Gladdy…is there a girl you want to impress tonight?”  
  
He snorts. “You think I have time to date?”  
  
“Well…” she says slowly, parting his hair into three sections. “You have seemed awfully distracted lately.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve had a lot on my mind with the gala.”  
  
“It’s not just that. You’ve been staring at your phone a lot too.”  
  
“So? You’re on your phone twenty-four-seven,” he teases.  
  
“Yeah, but you always look disappointed,” she says as she starts to braid his hair. “You know, like you’re waiting for someone to text you and they haven’t.”  
  
Shit. Has he been that obvious? Besides last night, he’s managed to keep himself too busy to think about Ignis. But Iris is a smart kid, and she knows him better than pretty much anyone. She might be the only one who knows him well enough to pick up on the longing he’s been trying to bury.  
  
“And what about you?” he says, changing the subject. “You planning to moon over Noct all night?”  
  
 “Gladdy!” Iris tugs a little too hard on his hair, and he laughs. He can just imagine her crimson cheeks. “I don’t moon over Noct!”  
  
“Sure you do. Maybe if you ask him real nicely, he’ll dance with you.”  
  
Iris huffs, but she doesn’t ask Gladio again about the girl she thinks he’s got his eye on, and she finishes braiding his hair in silence. When she’s done, she rummages in her bag again and pulls out a hand mirror.  
  
“What do you think?” she asks, handing it to him.  
  
It ain’t the kind of hairstyle he’d ever think to give himself, but as he moves the mirror and tilts his head to see it from different angles, he realizes he likes it. She’s braided the longer section of hair into a faux hawk and tied the end into a knot at the nape of his neck, emphasizing the shaved sides of his head and the cut of his jaw. Hell, he more than likes it, but he’ll never be able to replicate it himself. Would it be too much to hope that Ignis will notice it tonight?  
  
“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks.  
  
“You like it?” she says. When he nods, she grins at him and claps her hands. “You look super handsome, Gladdy. All the girls are gonna be obsessed with you.”  
  
Gladio rolls his eyes. “Okay, enough. I have to get dressed. Why don’t you go see if Dad needs help? Maybe you can give his hair a comb.”  
  
“Ha-ha,” she says sarcastically, but she squats to pack up all her grooming supplies, then slings the bag over her shoulder as she rises to her feet. “I’ll see you at the gala. Don’t be late!”  
  
She skips out of his office, closing the door behind her and leaving him to figure out his suit and ceremonial robes on his own. The suit’s easy enough to put on, even though the collar’s a little tight when he slips the last button through the hole. The robes, though, are another story. There’s heavy plating in the shoulders, and a layer of fine silver mail under the flowing black robes. How the hell does his dad wear this day in and day out? It’s too heavy. Too hot. It’d slow him down if he ever had to defend Noct from an attack.  
  
Somehow, he manages to get the damn thing over his head and settled on his shoulders. After he tugs at his collar to loosen it and adjusts the plating until the robes hang just right, he turns and looks at himself in the full-length mirror behind the door. It ain’t half bad. The getup is way more formal than he’s used to, but with his hair tamed and his beard trimmed, he recognizes some of his dad in himself. Not the Clarus Amicitia of today, but the young, respectable Shield he’s seen in his mom’s old photo albums.  
  
Maybe it’ll be enough to make Ignis look at him in a different way.  
  
“All right,” he murmurs to himself, tugging at his collar one more time, “let’s do this.”

  
*

  
Gladio grabs a champagne glass off the tray of a passing waiter and downs it in three gulps.  
  
Strictly speaking, he’s not supposed to be hitting the booze, but he survived the royal procession and a totally uneventful dinner, so he figures he deserves to indulge a little. Besides, there’s no one around to see him. His dad and the king are sitting at the high table, their heads together, deep in conversation. Noct’s schmoozing with some nobles a few feet away. And Ignis hasn’t even spared him a glance all night, no matter how many times Gladio’s tried to catch his eye. He’s been too busy swanning around the place in his tailored black suit and skinny black tie, his hair gelled up in its usual style, to pay a glorified bodyguard any attention.  
  
He looks good. The minute he walked in the room after the procession, Gladio’s heart started pounding, his stomach fluttering so bad he felt like he was gonna puke. There was a brief reprieve over dinner—the seating plan had Ignis hidden from his view behind a pillar—but now he can’t stop looking at him. Like a pair of rebellious teenagers, his eyes keep straying to him, following him around the room as he mingles with the king’s guests.  
  
Scowling, he watches as a young, dark-haired woman in a backless red dress approaches him. He’s never seen her before. She’s definitely not from a Lucian family of note, which means she’s either a journalist, a lawyer for the crown, or one of the few corporate executives who were invited tonight. Smiling, she kisses both of Ignis’s cheeks in greeting. Ignis smiles back at her—his charming smile, the one that lights up his face, the one he never spares for Gladio—and she places a bejewelled hand on his forearm as they converse. She’s beautiful, and they sure look friendly. A little too friendly for his liking. Is she the mystery woman in his phone?  
  
Eirene?  
  
Shit. If she’s his girlfriend—or even just another fuck buddy—would Ignis have the balls to flaunt her right in front of Gladio’s face?  
  
He’s so busy watching them, wondering what the hell Ignis is thinking, that he doesn’t notice Prompto approaching from his left until he’s leaning into Gladio’s space.  
  
“Hey, big guy,” he says, giving Gladio a cheesy grin as he nudges him with his elbow. “What’s shakin’?”  
  
Gladio grunts and shrugs. “Nothing much, besides watching everyone enjoy themselves.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s gotta suck.” He eyes the empty champagne glass in Gladio’s hand. “But hey, you look like you’re enjoying yourself a little, too. Are you even allowed to drink when you’re on duty?”  
  
“No.” Gladio smirks at him. “And don’t even think about telling anyone. Remember, I know all the best spots to hide a body around Insomnia.”  
  
Prompto takes the champagne glass from his hand, his eyebrows lifting as he gives Gladio a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry, buddy, your secret’s safe with me.”  
  
There’s a moment of awkward silence as Prompto scans the room. Gladio wants to fill it, but he ain’t sure what to say. All he knows about Prompto is that he goes to school with Noct and likes video games. He’s a nice kid and all, but they haven’t had many occasions to interact. Besides a couple of game nights at Noct’s (which Ignis politely bowed out of), and a handful of outings to the arcade (where Gladio was on bodyguard duty, despite Noct’s insistence that he join in), Prompto’s only been a peripheral presence in his life.  
  
He’s about to resort to small talk and ask how Prompto’s enjoying the gala when the blond gestures with the glass in Ignis’s direction. “Heyyyy, check it out. Looks like Ignis is gonna score big tonight.”  
  
Gladio glances at Ignis again and finds him still talking to that woman, still laughing at whatever the hell she’s saying. It’s the worst kind of torture. He wishes he could look away. Watching her lean into his personal space—watching Ignis let her, watching him seem perfectly cool with it—is pissing him off.  
  
Gladio grunts and folds his arms. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”  
  
“Betcha five crowns he goes home with her tonight,” Prompto says.  
  
“Just five?” Gladio smirks. “Not too confident, huh?”  
  
“Eh.” Prompto shrugs. “I guess I don’t see Ignis as the type to take a lady home no matter how hard he flirts, y’know? I just picture him in old man pyjamas, cuddled up with, like, an encyclopedia or something.”  
  
Gladio has to bite his tongue. When he thinks of Ignis in bed, all he can picture is Ignis half dressed, on his hands and knees, with Gladio balls deep in his ass.  
  
He clears his throat and tries to look bored with the conversation. “You seen Iris around?”  
  
“Pretty sure I saw her hovering near the punch table, making eyes at Noct,” Prompto says, looking sideways at Gladio with a knowing grin. “She sure has it bad for him, doesn’t she?”  
  
“She’s a teenage girl,” Gladio says, waving a hand dismissively. Kids her age are always going crazy over pictures of Noct in all the gossip mags. “Listen, can you keep her company for a bit? Dad’s busy with the king and I gotta watch over Noct. I don’t want her to be lonely.”  
  
“Sure thing, big guy,” Prompto says. “I’ll see about sneaking you another champagne later tonight, ‘kay?”  
  
With a parting slap on Gladio’s back, he makes his way off through the crowd, toward Iris, just as the sound of metal urgently clinking on glass cuts through the din. Gladio glances at the head table and sees his dad standing there, a spoon in one hand and a microphone in the other. The crowd gradually goes quiet, until everyone’s attention is on the king’s Shield.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of His Majesty, I’d like to thank you for being here with us this evening to celebrate Prince Noctis’s nineteenth birthday,” he says into the silence. “As I am sure you’re eager to return to your conversations and canapés, I’ll keep this brief. His Majesty has not prepared words this evening, but he would like me to convey his gratitude to the following parties.”  
  
His dad pulls his reading glasses out of the inner pocket of his suit and puts them on, then consults the index card he’s holding. “The Central Insomnia Catering Company for the exquisite food and drink we’ve enjoyed tonight. Oriana’s Ornaments for the decor—those starbursts on all the tables are beautiful, aren’t they?—and the Luciano String Quartet for the music that will doubtless keep most of us on our feet later this evening.”  
  
There’s a smattering of polite applause, accompanied by a few whistles of appreciation.  
  
“Now, I promised to keep this short,” his dad says, tucking his glasses and the index card away again, “so without further ado, please join me in welcoming Prince Noctis to the head table to say a few words.”  
  
Another burst of applause ripples around the room as Noct makes his way through the crowd to the head table. Dutifully, Gladio follows, taking his place against the wall just behind his prince, clasping his hands in front of him as his eyes sweep the room. There shouldn’t be any threats in here tonight, not with the Crownsguard patrolling the perimeter and the halls, but he knows he can’t be too careful. If there’s one thing his dad’s taught him, it’s that he can never let his guard down when he’s on the clock.  
  
There aren’t a lot of guests—maybe three hundred, max. Most of them are Lucian nobles, from families he’s known since he was a kid. There’s also a handful of reporters from the Insomnia Herald, dignitaries from the Crown City’s border regions, lawyers and financial advisors associated with the crown, and executives from the richest Insomnian corporations. A few of those faces are familiar, but there are some he’s never seen before.  
  
As Noct speaks—preaching some bullshit about _sacred duties_ and _commitments to the people of Insomnia_ , all words that sound like they should be coming from Ignis’s mouth instead—his gaze leaps from one face to the next, searching for threats and moving on when there are none to be found. He sees Prompto standing with Iris near the punch table, both of them watching Noct, Prompto with his hands in his pocket and Iris with hers clasped under her chin.  
  
Next he looks at the woman in the red dress. She’s watching Noct attentively with a little smile on her face, standing so close to Ignis that their arms are touching. It’s driving him crazy, even though it shouldn’t, because Ignis doesn’t belong to him. This arrangement of theirs is just about fucking, full stop, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Gladio clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look at Ignis—  
  
—and finds himself already being watched. As soon as their eyes meet, Ignis’s gaze flits away, back to Noct, and he coolly sips from his glass of champagne, totally unruffled. Gladio’s face starts to heat up in embarrassment. He looks away, too, but now he’s flustered, caught up in his frustration, too lost in his thoughts to worry about anything but how Ignis caught him looking.  
  
“Before I finish, there is someone my dad forgot to thank,” Noct says, tugging on a lock of hair at the back of his head. It’s a nervous tic he’s had since he was a kid. “I just wanted to give a huge shout-out to my advisor, Ignis, for putting this gala together tonight. He always does way more than his job demands, and tonight wouldn’t have been half as awesome without all his hard work. Obviously, the food and music and everything are good, but he’s the one who arranged it all and made sure everything went off so smoothly.”  
  
Heart somersaulting, Gladio’s eyes snap back to Ignis, who looks stunned by the praise—and maybe by the fact that Noct added a little something extra to the speech Ignis clearly wrote for him.  
  
“Specs, I probably don’t say this enough, but thanks. Don’t know what the hell I’d do without you.” And Noct starts to clap, leaning toward the microphone as he adds, “Let’s all show him a little bit of appreciation, guys!”  
  
The place explodes. After a moment, Gladio joins in the thunderous applause, not just for Ignis, but for Noct, unable to stop himself from grinning as he swells with pride. Some part of him will always see Noct as a kid—the kid he taught to fight, the kid who worked hard to earn his respect—but he’s a man now, maybe a man worthy of being king someday after all. Across the room, Ignis’s face is scarlet, though he clearly can’t help smiling either, humbly ducking his head as he accepts the praise.  
  
As the applause fades, the music starts up again, and the guests are left to mingle and dance for the rest of the evening. Noct leaves the head table to join Prompto and Iris. Gladio remains where he is, watching as couples sway to smooth jazz tunes performed by the string quartet. Resolutely, he refuses to look at Ignis, forcing his gaze away every time it strays in his direction. He doesn’t need to see Ignis flirting with that woman, or worse, dancing with her, not when he’s dying to go over there and ask Ignis to dance himself.  
  
It just reminds him of the things they’ve never done together. Gladio has been inside Ignis, but he’s never held him in his arms. They’ve had sex, but they’ve never talked for hours into the night. They’ve never fallen asleep next to each other. They’ve been physical, but they’ve never had intimacy.  
  
Still, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he chances a glance. The woman in the red dress is gone. Instead, Ignis is standing with two other men, one of whom Gladio recognizes as the Crownsguard’s legal counsel, though he can’t remember the guy’s name. Ignis looks relaxed, one hand in his pants pocket and the other holding a glass of champagne, gesturing as he chats with the two of them.  
  
That’s how the rest of the evening passes. Ignis doesn’t dance. He works his way around the room, making small talk with seemingly dozens of guests who want his attention. At one point, he spends an hour nodding as the editor of the Insomnia Herald animatedly talks his ear off, until Iris and Prompto at last come to his rescue, dragging him off to the dessert cart loaded with lemon tarts and chiffon pastries and thick slices of ulwaat mousse cake. As the hours drag by, Gladio silently wills Ignis to look his way, but he never does. It’s like he’s forgotten Gladio exists.  
  
When the clock strikes midnight, his dad comes over to relieve him of his duty. Most of the guests have already departed, leaving only a few straggling nobles, some of them so drunk they look like they can hardly stand up straight. From where he’s stationed, he can see Ignis and Noct trying to corral them out the door.  
  
“At ease, son. You did a fine job tonight,” his dad says, his eagle eyes scanning the room as he stands next to Gladio.  
  
“Thanks,” Gladio says. He rolls his shoulders and tips his head from side to side, wincing as his neck cracks. Shit, he’s sore, and all from doing nothing all night. “Crownsguard didn’t have anything to report?”  
  
“No. All went smoothly.” Finally, his dad turns to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry about anything else tonight. I’ll see His Majesty and the prince back to their quarters. You go on home.”  
  
“Iris need a lift?”  
  
“No. I called Jared to come pick her up some time ago after she fell asleep at one of the tables.”  
  
Gladio nods. He’s itching to get out of these stuffy clothes and back into his sweats. He’s also itching to talk to Ignis, if only to ask him how his evening went before saying goodnight.  
  
“Go on.” Clarus nods at the doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can discuss the possibility of moving the ceremony up a few months. I’ll pour us both a whiskey. We’ll make an afternoon of it.”  
  
Stunned, Gladio’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment until he finds the presence of mind to breathe, “Dad, I…I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything.” His dad smiles and nods at the doors again, more emphatically this time. “Go on, now.”  
  
They bid each other goodnight. Buoyed by happiness, his face splitting into a grin, Gladio crosses the ballroom to where Ignis is delivering the last guest of the evening into the care of a Citadel chauffeur. As the doors close behind him, Ignis turns, and his eyes widen, his lips parting, as he sees Gladio approach. But as usual, he recovers fast, his face smoothing over into a mask of passivity.  
  
“Gladio,” he says in a neutral voice.  
  
“Ignis,” Gladio responds, nodding at him, consciously reining in his good mood. He glances at Noct. “Highness.”  
  
Noct grunts, but he doesn’t look up from his phone.  
  
“I trust your evening went well?” Ignis says.  
  
“Not bad,” Gladio says. The tension between them is fucking unbearable, ready to snap. “You?”  
  
“It was perfectly pleasant,” Ignis responds, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The editor of the Insomnia Herald would like to do a profile piece on His Highness to counteract the negative press he’s been receiving in the Lucis Examiner of late.”  
  
“Yeah, I saw him talkin’ your ear off. Would’ve intervened if, y’know, I wasn’t stuck keeping an eye on Princess all night.”  
  
“That’s quite all right. It’s part and parcel of the job, after all. I’m no stranger to the tedious ramblings of his kind.” He tilts his head, offering Gladio the barest hint of a smile. “The champagne numbed the pain somewhat.”  
  
Gladio doesn’t know what comes over him. He should be keeping his distance, not putting himself in situations that wear him down. But maybe his dad’s change of heart about the ceremony’s put him in a better mood than he thought, because he asks, “Look, can I give you a ride home? You probably shouldn’t be driving if you’ve been knocking ‘em back all night.”  
  
Ignis’s smile falters, his brow furrowing. “That’s a kind offer, but I haven’t had that much to drink, and the decorations won’t take themselves down. I’d like to get started on them tonight.”  
  
Gladio’s about to answer, his cheeks heating in humiliation, but Noct speaks first. He looks up from his phone with a frown of his own. “Give me a break, Specs. The decorators are going to do the tear-down, aren’t they? Isn’t that why we hired them?”  
  
“Well, yes, but—”  
  
“Go home,” Noct says firmly. “And take Gladio up on his offer. I don’t want you falling asleep behind the wheel and killing yourself or something.”  
  
Ignis hesitates, glancing at Noct, then at Gladio, before he nods in resignation. “Very well. If you’ll give me ten minutes to wrap up a few things, Gladio…?”  
  
“Yeah, sure. I wanna run down to the locker room and change anyway. I can barely move in this getup.” Gladio wakes the display of his phone, checking the time. “I’ll meet you in the parking garage at twelve-fifteen?”  
  
Ignis nods again. “Twelve-fifteen it is.”

  
*

  
Gladio stashes his ceremonial robes in his locker, trading them for sweatpants and a henley top that hugs all his muscles, then goes to the parking garage with his duffel bag and car keys in hand. As promised, Ignis is waiting for him at the door to the stairwell, scrolling through his phone, though he puts it away as soon as he sees Gladio approaching.  
  
Neither of them speak on the short drive back to Ignis’s apartment. Gladio drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the hip hop playing on the radio, desperately trying to think of something to say. Is Ignis feeling awkward after what happened last night? Gladio never responded to his text message. Maybe he thinks Gladio’s been avoiding him. Maybe he’s embarrassed because Gladio turned him down. Or, shit, maybe he’s pissed. That would explain why he tried to turn Gladio’s offer of a ride home.  
  
Gladio’s feeling out of sorts about the whole situation. It’s hard to know what the hell to say when he can’t figure out what Ignis is thinking.  
  
By the time he pulls up outside Ignis’s apartment building, he’s settled on apologizing for ignoring Ignis’s text all day. That seems like the safest approach, the best way to get on Ignis’s good side. He puts the car in park, but leaves the engine running, placing a hand on the back of the passenger seat as he turns to Ignis.  
  
Ignis beats him to it, though.  
  
“Would you like to come upstairs?” he asks, without looking at Gladio.  
  
“Uhhh…” Well, fuck. He wasn’t expecting _that_.  
  
“I understand if not,” Ignis goes on. “I would just…well, I would like to continue what we began last night.” He licks his lips, finally looking up at Gladio. “What I began, to be more precise. If you’re amenable.”  
  
“I…”  
  
He’s amenable. More than amenable, even though sleeping with Ignis is a bad idea. It’s gonna sting when Ignis inevitably kicks him out after, and he still doesn’t know who that woman in the red dress is, still doesn’t know who _Eirene_ is. But Ignis smells irresistible, like cinnamon and citrus, and he looks so handsome in the light of the dash that Gladio can’t find it in him to say no. Denying himself Ignis’s body hurts almost as much as knowing he’ll never have his heart, so he might as well take what he can get as long as Ignis is offering.  
  
“Yeah,” he finally says, “I can come up.”  
  
Ignis stares at him for a few seconds, his eyes wide in the darkness, before he nods sharply and opens the door. Gladio turns off the engine and steps out, too, grabbing his duffel from the backseat so he has something to do with his hands. They walk into the building in silence, and Ignis presses the call button for the elevator.  
  
As they’re waiting, he glances at Gladio. “Your hair looks nice.”  
  
“Thanks,” Gladio says nonchalantly, though he’s a little stunned that Ignis noticed, let alone bothered to say anything about it. “Iris helped me with it.”  
  
“Naturally.” Ignis smirks. “I didn’t think you possessed the know-how to braid it yourself.”  
  
The elevator dings and the doors slide open before Gladio can come up with a retort. They both step inside, and as soon as the doors close behind them, Ignis pushes him against the wall, sealing their mouths together. His hand slots between Gladio’s legs to cup him through his pants. The sudden pressure makes Gladio’s dick twitch in interest, pulls a soft groan out of him. He kisses Ignis back, hungry and hard, so hard their teeth click together, sliding a hand up to hold Ignis by the nape of the neck.  
  
“You’re a confounding man,” Ignis says breathlessly, nipping at his lower lip as they pull apart.  
  
“Yeah? Why’s that?”  
  
“One minute you desire me, the next you turn me down.” He looks at Gladio’s lips, then into his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother propositioning you at all.”    
  
“You talkin’ about last night?” Gladio laughs without humour. “C’mon, Ignis, I wasn’t gonna fuck you after you fainted right off a ladder.”  
  
“I did not _faint_ off a _ladder_.”  
  
The elevator doors roll open with another ding. Ignis straightens his tie and jacket and steps out, once again the consummate gentleman. Gladio shakes his head and follows, staying a couple of steps behind him as Ignis leads the way to his apartment. He unlocks the door and lets them both inside, flicking on the switch in the kitchen. Fluorescent light spills into the entryway and living room.  
  
Gladio drops his bag on the tiled floor. “You gonna live in denial forever?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Gladio rolls his eyes. “About the ladder.”  
  
Ignis sighs and toes off his shoes. “I didn’t ask you here to argue.”  
  
“Nah, but that’s just what we do, ain’t it?” Gladio moves into his space, backing Ignis into the wall, strangely turned on by the way he looks up at Gladio like a cornered animal. It’s just an act—Ignis is too strong, too skilled in his own right to be intimidated by Gladio—but it’s hot all the same. “Sometimes I think you get off on arguing with me more than you do on fucking me.”  
  
“They’re equally satisfying,” Ignis retorts. He shoves Gladio’s chest lightly, out of his space. “Now, are you quite finished? Might we take this conversation to the bedroom?”  
  
Gladio bends in a mocking bow and gestures down the dark hallway. “After you.”  
  
He kicks off his own sneakers and trails after Ignis, closing the bedroom door behind them as Ignis turns on the lamp on the nightstand. As always, the bed is perfectly made, the pillows fluffed and resting against the slatted headboard. Gladio barely has the chance to take it all in before Ignis is next to him again, a hand sliding possessively up Gladio’s arm.  
  
“Did you know you smell like sugar?” he says.  
  
“Yeah.” Gladio places a hand on his hip, tugging him closer. “Iris put some berry shit in my hair. Told her it was too much.”  
  
Ignis shrugs, his hungry gaze climbing over Gladio’s abs and chest and shoulders, coming at last to rest on his face. “It isn’t your usual scent, but I must admit, I rather like it.”  
  
Gods. Listening to Ignis talk about the way he smells is getting his dick hard.  
  
Ignis cups his cheek and kisses him, his tongue parting Gladio’s lips to slip inside his mouth. Drunk on his touch, Gladio meets him halfway, tasting champagne and the sugared ulwaat berries that were on Noct’s cake. It’s a little more urgent than the kiss they shared last night, but it makes him feel the same way, like Ignis wants him for something more than a quick fuck. Like it’s Gladio he craves, and not just someone—anyone—to warm his bed.  
  
It’s an illusion, of course. It ain’t the first time Ignis has made him feel something that isn’t real.  
  
But he’s past the point of second guessing. The wet heat of Ignis’s mouth has him flushed and quivering with lust, his dick painfully hard in his pants. He caresses Ignis’s tongue with his own, gentle at first, then more insistent, grabbing him by the tie to pull him closer. Ignis makes a little sound as their bodies collide. His hand slides down from Gladio’s cheek to rest in the open V of his shirt, impossibly hot against his skin.  
  
The suit’s gotta go. He’s been dreaming of getting Ignis out of it all goddamn night.  
  
Gladio gently tugs at the knot, breaking the kiss to speak against Ignis’s ear. “You in the mood to be adventurous?”  
  
“That depends on your definition of adventure.” Ignis kisses him again, just a brush of his lips that leaves Gladio wanting more.  
  
The knot loosens, and Gladio coaxes the length of tie free, stripping it from around Ignis’s neck. He wraps the ends around each hand and pulls it taut, considering it for a moment before he glances up into Ignis’s eyes. How good would he look with his wrists tied to the headboard, spread out and bared, completely at Gladio’s mercy?  
  
With a start, he realizes he’s never seen Ignis naked. Every fuck they’ve had has been too risky or too quick to bother taking all their clothes off. Sure, he’s glimpsed parts of him—his ass, his cock, his chest, all of them nice to look at on their own—but not the whole package at once. The thought of seeing Ignis without a stitch on him sends the rest of his blood rushing into his dick.  
  
“Get that jacket off,” he growls, dropping the tie on the bed.  
  
Ignis obliges, shrugging out of it with a fluid grace and draping it over the top of his dresser. This leaves him in his fitted white dress shirt, the ends of the sleeves secured by a pair of round, silver cufflinks. Slowly, Ignis pops them off one by one, never breaking eye contact with Gladio, his lips curving into a smirk, before he tosses them on the dresser, too. Fuck, Gladio just wants to rip his shirt right open and help himself to the body underneath.  
  
Before he can do that, Ignis steps forward and kisses him again, his hands sliding under the hem of Gladio’s henley. His palms are warm as they skim over his abs, his ribs, his pecs, pushing his shirt up until Gladio lifts his arms so Ignis can pull it off. Like the jacket, it’s hastily discarded on the dresser, and then Ignis grabs him by the back of the neck and reclaims his mouth, his tongue demanding.  
  
Gladio gets to work on his collar, his fingers fumbling the buttons open, grunting when Ignis thumbs his nipple. The hand on the back of his neck slides down, down, to grasp one of his ass cheeks, squeezing hard and jerking Gladio closer, close enough that Ignis’s hard-on bumps him in the hip. For all the stupid head games they’ve played with each other, this is the proof that Ignis wants him. And he ain’t shy about it.  
  
The last button of his shirt comes undone. Gladio breaks the kiss and pushes the fabric off Ignis’s shoulders, down his arms, letting it drop to the floor, leaving Ignis naked from the waist up. The light from the bedside lamp gilds the dusting of sandy hair on his chest and belly, illuminates the freckles on his shoulders. Until now, Gladio had no idea they were even there. He reaches up to trace them with his fingertips, his touch feather-light.  
  
Ignis shivers and places his hand over Gladio’s, stopping it in its tracks. “What were you saying about adventure?”  
  
Gladio smirks, but he doesn’t answer, deliberately eyeing the rest of Ignis’s physique. Shadows pool in the hollows of his collarbone, in the dip between his pecs, highlighting the tight, toned muscles of his torso and arms. It’s a shame Ignis keeps it all wrapped up under his suit, day in and day out. This is the kind of body that’s just begging to be explored.  
  
Ignis opens his mouth, presumably to repeat his question, but Gladio shoves him onto the mattress. He bounces once, his breath hitching, and his eyes widen as Gladio steps between his spread legs at the edge of the bed.  
  
“Take off your pants,” Gladio says.    
  
“Is that an order?” Ignis shoots back.  
  
“Damn right it is.” Gladio runs a hand up the inside of Ignis’s thigh, pausing just short of the bulge in his pressed dress pants. “And you know what happens to Crownsguard officers who don’t do what they’re told.”  
  
Ignis raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have me run fifteen laps and give you a hundred pushups?”  
  
“Well, I had something a little different in mind. You’re supposed to play along. So…” Gladio glances at his crotch, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna take them off or not?”  
  
“I suppose I can oblige, just this once.”  
  
Gladio watches as Ignis starts to undo his belt, his fingers sliding the tongue loose from the buckle. Once that’s done, he slips the button out of the buttonhole and slowly unzips his fly, his eyes never leaving Gladio’s face. Where the material of the pants gapes open, Gladio can see the blue of his boxer briefs, pulled taut by the ridge of his cock. There’s a wet spot where the head must be nestled, darkening the material.  
  
Ignis props himself up on his elbows, lifting his hips and looking at Gladio expectantly. “Will you…?”  
  
Through the haze of lust, lost in his admiration of Ignis’s body, it takes Gladio a second to realize what the hell he’s asking. But as soon as he does, he hooks his fingers into the band of Ignis’s pants and tugs them down his legs, underwear and all. His cock springs free and slaps against his belly, thick and hard and heavy. The sight of it lying on his flat abs makes Gladio’s mouth go dry.  
  
He tosses the pants to the floor and wraps his hand around Ignis’s dick, giving it a firm stroke from root to head, letting the ball of his thumb drag over the tip. Ignis bucks up into his hand, dropping his head back with a choked gasp. Hungrily, Gladio eyes the firm lines of his body, wanting to kiss every inch of exposed skin until Ignis is shuddering under him and begging to be fucked.  
  
Gladio surges in to claim his mouth again, grunting when a questing hand grabs his dick through his sweatpants. Ignis squeezes him, his hand sliding over his length, but the friction ain’t quite enough, not with the material of his sweats in the way.  
  
Might as well help him out.  
  
Gladio takes his hand and guides it into his underwear, guides it until Ignis closes Gladio’s cock in his fist and starts to stroke it in the confined space. The angle is awkward, but it feels so hot, so fucking good, that Gladio lets out a ragged groan into Ignis’s mouth, his hips grinding into Ignis’s hand of their own accord.  
  
“You haven’t answered my question,” Ignis murmurs, squeezing Gladio’s cockhead on the upward stroke.  
  
Gladio closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together, hardly capable of thinking straight with Ignis’s hand on him. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“You were saying something about adventure.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Gladio opens his eyes again, glancing at the necktie lying on Ignis’s pillow. He doesn’t know if Ignis will agree to being restrained, but the idea of fucking him while he’s bound to the headboard won’t leave Gladio alone.  
  
There’s no harm in asking, right? The worst Ignis can do is say no.  
  
He pins Ignis’s free hand above his head, tangling their fingers together, and kisses him hard as Ignis gives his cock a few more languid strokes. Every pass of his thumb over the head sends a thrill of excitement up Gladio’s spine. For a moment, he chases that pleasure, his tongue teasing its way into Ignis’s warm, wet mouth as he thrusts into his fist.  
  
Then he takes Ignis’s hand out of his pants and pins it with the other one on the duvet.  
  
Ignis looks up at him questioningly. “Gladio?”  
  
“Do you trust me?” Gladio asks.  
  
“I…” Ignis bites his lower lip, flexing his wrists under Gladio’s hands. “I don’t know. I suppose that all depends on what you’re going to ask me to do.”  
  
“I wanna tie you up,” Gladio says bluntly. “And blindfold you, if you’re cool with it.”  
  
Ignis’s eyes search his face, his expression inscrutable. For a second, Gladio thinks he’s gonna say no. This is Ignis, after all. He’s obsessed with being in control, with being the one to call all the shots. No fucking way is he going to hand himself over to Gladio on a silver platter.  
  
But a moment later, to Gladio’s surprise, he shifts up the bed to settle onto his back on the pillows. “There’s a scarf hanging behind the door. You can use it to blindfold me,” he says.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Gladio goes to the door and finds the scarf Ignis indicated. The royal blue material is thick, but light, and long enough that Gladio should be able to knot it around Ignis’s head no problem.  
  
He returns to the bed, running his palm up the inside of Ignis downy thigh before he picks up the necktie. Ignis is looking at him, his eyes as unsure as Gladio’s ever seen them. Just when Gladio’s starting to think maybe he doesn’t have the stones to go through with it, Ignis lifts his hands over his head, wrists together, wordlessly offering himself to Gladio.  
  
“You sure about this?” he asks, giving Ignis one last chance to bow out.  
  
Ignis nods.  
  
“If you want me to stop at any point, just say so,” Gladio says.  
  
“I will.”  
  
That’s all Gladio needs to hear. He works quickly, binding Ignis’s wrists with a double-column tie before securing them to one of the slats of the headboard. Ignis gives his bonds a sharp tug to test them, but they hold fast. Satisfied with his work, Gladio folds the scarf length-wise and covers Ignis’s eyes, pulling it tight before knotting it behind Ignis’s head.  
  
Once done, he sits back on his heels and looks down at Ignis. Gladio could get used to seeing him like this: spread out on the duvet, completely at Gladio’s mercy, with his cock standing up stiff between his legs, the head flushed and slick with precome.  
  
The rest of him ain’t so bad either. When he’s got his clothes on, he doesn’t look like much. It’s no wonder some people at the Citadel—people who aren’t in the Crownsguard, who haven’t seen just how goddamn deadly he is with his daggers—mistake him for some delicate bureaucrat. But that’s only ‘cause he’s not ripped like Gladio and some of the bigger guys in the Crownsguard. He’s got lean muscle instead, and hardly an ounce of fat on him.  
  
Gladio’s eyes follow the firm curves of his biceps and the swell of his pecs as he tests his restraints again. His abs aren’t exactly washboard, but the muscle definition is visible under taut skin, expanding then bunching as he breathes. While he’s got a couple of moles—one on his hip, another on his ribs just under his armpit—his skin is otherwise unblemished, almost too perfect. Gladio’s not sure which part of him he wants to kiss first.  
  
“Gladio?” Ignis asks uncertainly, and Gladio realizes he’s been staring.  
  
He leans over him and grazes his lips across Ignis’s mouth, just a ghost of a touch. Ignis lifts his head off the pillow to chase him as he pulls back. It takes all of Gladio’s self-restraint not to kiss him fully, but it’s worth it to hear Ignis’s ragged groan of frustration, to see his biceps flex as he strains against his bonds. He drags his palm up Ignis’s cock, flattening it against his belly, his fingertips grazing idly over the slick head before his hand glides back down to cup Ignis’s balls. They’re already tight. Gladio strokes the soft skin with his thumb, watching as Ignis’s mouth falls open in a small moan.  
  
He bends over to steal a kiss, dipping his tongue into Ignis’s mouth. The taste of the ulwaat berries has faded, but the champagne lingers on his lips, and Gladio explores him languidly, his dick twitching as Ignis’s tongue meets his own, velvety and demanding. Gladio lets Ignis devour him for a second, giving him the illusion of control, before he withdraws again with a wet sound, his lips hovering just out of Ignis’s reach.  
  
“You forgetting who’s in charge here?” he murmurs, his fingers moving to stroke the skin behind Ignis’s balls.  
  
Ignis moans, his knees falling apart as his hips buck off the bed. “Gladio, please—”  
  
“‘Gladio, please’ what?” Gladio taunts. His fingers skirt near Ignis’s hole before he comes back to cup his balls again, squeezing gently. “You sound so nice when you beg, Iggy.”    
  
Ignis bites his lip, but he doesn’t answer. Giving an amused huff, Gladio sits up and opens the nightstand drawer, where he knows Ignis keeps his supply of condoms and lube. They’re exactly where Gladio left them the last time they fucked in Ignis’s bed. He retrieves the lube and a foil packet from the open box, and sets both on top of the nightstand, sliding the drawer closed again.  
  
He taps Ignis’s thigh. “Bend your legs back.”  
  
Quietly, Ignis obeys, spreading himself to give Gladio better access. He’s limber enough, strong enough, that he manages to get his knees nearly to his chest, even with his hands tied to the headboard. Fuckin’ hell. Gladio breathes deep, willing himself not to touch his own throbbing dick, and squeezes some lube onto his fingers, spreading it with his thumb. Then he places his clean hand on Ignis’s inner thigh, holding him open, and pushes the tip of one digit into his ass. Ignis tenses up around him, letting out a sharp exhale.  
  
“Relax,” Gladio murmurs, his thumb gently stroking Ignis’s thigh. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”  
  
“You aren’t hurting me,” Ignis says impatiently. “It was merely unexpected. I can’t see what you’re doing.”  
  
Gladio smirks. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
He eases his finger in to the last knuckle, his cock twitching as the heat of Ignis’s body engulfs it. Slowly, he drags it back out, looking for his prostate. He knows he’s found it when Ignis groans and the legs hovering on either side of his head twitch. Gladio grins and rubs that spot mercilessly, bending to slide his lips around Ignis’s cock, the tip of his tongue teasing the frenulum as he goes down. Neither of them have showered, so Ignis tastes a little bitter, a little sharp with sweat, but honestly, Gladio wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
To the outside world, Ignis always has to be impeccable. His pressed suit and clipped accent and gelled hair are his armor. But here, with his dick in Gladio’s mouth, he’s just a man—a flawed, imperfect, vulnerable man.  
  
Gradually, Gladio finds a rhythm, pulling almost all the way off Ignis’s cock before taking him deep again, the pad of his finger massaging his prostate. Part of him wishes Ignis wasn’t tied to the bed, so he could bury his hands in Gladio’s hair and fuck his face, ruthlessly, the way he did that day they were trapped together in the warehouse. Gladio’s dick twitches at the memory. He can still remember how Ignis smelled, and how much it turned him on—the musk of his balls, blended with the aroma of sweat and the sweetness of his cologne.  
  
He adds a second finger to the mix, moving his other hand from Ignis’s thigh to his belly to stop his hips from bucking. Breathing evenly through his nose, he takes Ignis a little deeper, bit by bit, until the head of his cock bumps the back of Gladio’s throat. The sensation brings tears to Gladio’s eyes, so he closes them, swallowing once. Ignis lets out a shuddering exhale, which turns to a moan as Gladio pulls off, his lips dragging torturously up the shaft. When he reaches the head, he lets Ignis’s cock slip from his mouth to drop once more onto his belly, glistening with Gladio’s saliva.  
  
Turning his head, he presses his lips to Ignis’s hip, his tongue flicking out to trace the mole there, before he trails his lips upward, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on the plane of his abs. A third finger joins the other two in Ignis’s ass, wringing a cry out of him. But Gladio doesn’t stop. He closes his mouth over one of Ignis’s nipples, grazing it between his teeth before soothing with his tongue, working his prostate until Ignis is shaking on the bed, his biceps bulging as he tugs at his bonds.  
  
Only then does Gladio slip his fingers out and wipe them on the sheet. He sits back on his heels, looking down at Ignis panting on the bed, his thighs trembling from the strain of holding his legs up.  
  
“You ready for my cock now?” he asks. When Ignis doesn’t answer, he says, “Seemed pretty desperate for it last night.”  
  
“Well, if you’re so certain of that,” Ignis says, “I hardly need to say it, do I?”  
  
Chuckling, Gladio grabs the condom from the bedside table, rips open the foil, and takes the rubber out of the packet. “Sometimes I just wanna hear it, Iggy.”  
  
He rolls on the condom and lubes himself up, his eyes hungrily eating up the sight of Ignis naked under him. Gods, Gladio wants him—not just his body, but his attention and his affection. He wants to hold Ignis in his arms as they fuck, his tongue taking Ignis’s mouth in time with his cock taking the rest of him. He wants to feel Ignis’s hands touching him not just to get off, but for the intimacy of it.  
  
When he’s sufficiently slick, he kneels and drags Ignis’s ass into his lap. Taking himself in hand, he rubs the head of his cock against Ignis’s hole, teasing, catching once or twice on the rim. It takes all of his willpower not to stick it into him and drill him into the mattress the way he’s been thinking about these past few days.  
  
“Gladio,” Ignis says, almost like a warning, and Gladio pushes inside, turning whatever he was about to say into a soundless cry as he’s invaded, his ass clenching hard around Gladio’s cock. Gladio gives him a second to adjust to it, waiting until his muscles slacken before he pushes in a little further. He doesn’t bother sheathing himself to the hilt; he fucks Ignis with a couple of shallow thrusts, his body warming with arousal as he watches Ignis arch beneath him.  
  
Then he pulls out again, holding the head of his cock against Ignis’s asshole.  
  
“Tell me you want it, Iggy,” he says, breathing hard.  
  
Ignis huffs in frustration. “What?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
“Gladio, must we—”  
  
“I said _say it_.”  
  
Ignis swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his lips part, wet and obscene. His thighs quiver around Gladio’s waist. “I want it, Gladio, please,” he breathes.  
  
The need in his voice goes right to Gladio’s cock. Hands grasping Ignis’s thighs, he pushes forward, breaching him oh-so-slowly, biting his lip as he watches the head of his dick disappear inside Ignis’s body. Ignis tenses, letting out a low moan, the line of his body taut, the muscles of his ass clenching around Gladio’s cock before relaxing again. He feels so damn good.  
  
With a shuddering breath, he sinks in to the hilt, until his pelvis is flush with Ignis’s ass, their sweaty skin sticking together. They’re both trembling. Gladio can feel the tension in Ignis’s lean thighs, can feel his own muscles quivering as he keeps himself still.  
  
“All right?” he grunts, wiping at the sweat on his face with his forearm.  
  
Ignis grits his teeth and hisses as the movement jostles him. “Yes.”  
  
Hands braced on Ignis’s hamstrings, holding his knees down against his body, Gladio pulls out until only the head of his cock remains in Ignis’s ass. He holds himself there, memorizing this so he has something to jerk off to tomorrow night: Ignis spread out and bound beneath him, head thrown back on the pillow, mouth open, sucking in shallow, choppy breaths.  
  
Fuck, if he hasn’t fantasized about this very scenario a dozen times before.  
  
Gladio pushes into him again, slow and controlled, a shudder of pleasure running through him when Ignis helplessly moans his name. The inside of his body is so perfectly hot and tight, almost like it was made just for this.  
  
Gladio rocks his hips in a lazy, fluid rhythm, biting his lip with the effort of holding himself in check. He wants Ignis to feel every last inch of Gladio’s cock sliding in and out of him, wants to draw this out until Ignis is begging Gladio to fuck him hard and fast. They’ve had too many hurried blowjobs in dusty old warehouses and empty meeting rooms, too many quick lays in places where they could’ve been caught.  
  
But there’s no risk of that here. Gladio can take his time.  
  
It seems like every muscle in Ignis’s body stands out as Gladio fucks him, his biceps straining against his bonds, his core tight as he rocks to meet Gladio’s thrusts, almost desperately, like he’s trying to goad Gladio into moving faster. But Gladio won’t give him that. He runs a hand up Ignis’s belly and chest, then back down, purposely avoiding his cock, even though it clearly needs a little attention. It looks painfully hard, the head swollen and flushed, leaking precome on his abs.  
  
“How we doin’, Iggy?” he asks, pausing when he’s balls-deep again, and rolls his hips in a tight circle so Ignis can really feel him in there. “Still with me?”  
  
Ignis nods, his knuckles white from clutching the tie that binds him to the headboard. So Gladio starts to move again, a little faster now, a little harder, his hand sliding up Ignis’s chest to thumb one of his nipples. He gets a gasp for that, so he does it to the other one before raking his nails down Ignis’s belly, through the soft trail of hair under his navel. He lets his knuckles brush against Ignis’s cock, this time drawing a moan out of Ignis.  
  
“Gladio, please,” he whispers.  
  
Wrapping a hand around Ignis’s cock, Gladio strokes him in time with his thrusts, slow at first, but gaining speed. Between the dick spearing him and the necktie binding his hands, Ignis doesn’t have a lot of leverage to move, but he rocks into Gladio’s fist as much as he’s able. His cock is liberally dribbling precome, and it makes a wet slapping sound as Gladio jerks him off, matching the brutal, rhythmic smacking of their skin as Gladio pounds into him, faster and harder.  
  
The bed’s creaking like it’s about to break, the headboard slamming into the wall with his every thrust. Gladio angles his hips upward as he moves, looking to nail Ignis’s prostate, his own impending orgasm coiling tight in the pit of his belly as he watches Ignis shudder on the sheets.  
  
He’s starting to think he should slow down again when Ignis gives a choked cry, arching off the bed, and comes without warning, his spend pulsing in hot, wet ropes over Gladio’s hand. Gladio strokes him through it as his body jerks with the aftershocks, once, then twice, then a third time before he finally goes limp against the pillow, his sweat-slicked chest heaving.  
  
Gladio hammers out a few more thrusts before his orgasm crashes over him, his body seizing up, then shuddering uncontrollably with the force of his release. It punches a harsh sound out of his lungs, and he drives his cock into Ignis one last time, his eyes screwing shut as he spills inside of him. Ignis’s legs wrap around him, ankles locking behind his back, pulling him closer, deeper, as he pumps out the last few pulses of his orgasm.  
  
They lay tangled together for a moment, Gladio half off Ignis so he doesn’t crush him under his weight. They’re both sweaty and panting, their skin sticking together. Gladio can hear his own pulse in his ears—or maybe that’s Ignis’s heartbeat, pounding under his cheek where it rests on his chest.  
  
Carefully, Gladio slips out of Ignis and rolls onto his back, his muscles going slack in the afterglow. He tugs off the condom and knots the end, tossing it into the trash can next to Ignis’s bed.  
  
“Gladio,” Ignis says, his voice thick and dreamy, “if you don’t mind, my arms are beginning to get rather sore…”  
  
“Shit. Sorry.”  
  
Gladio reaches up and loosens the knot in the necktie, untethering him from the headboard. With a relieved groan, Ignis works his wrists out of the loops and rubs them, lifting his head when Gladio goes to work on the blindfold tied around his head. As it falls away, Ignis squints at the sudden light, his hair messed up and damp with sweat, his cheeks ruddy from exertion.  
  
“Oh…” He licks his lips, closing his eyes as his head drops back onto the pillow. “That was…”  
  
“Good?” Gladio supplies.  
  
Ignis laughs faintly, finally looking at him. “Yes. Good.” He glances down at the come drying on his abs and sighs. “Though I suppose I should clean myself up before I fall asleep. I’ll be back in a moment.”  
  
Gladio stretches out on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow as he watches Ignis—or, more specifically, Ignis’s ass—pad into the bathroom across the hall. He flicks on the switch and closes the door behind him, and then the tap runs. For a moment, Gladio is left alone with his own thoughts, though honestly, he ain’t thinking about much right now, besides wondering if Ignis would be into cuddling when he comes back to bed.  
  
The sound of Ignis’s phone buzzing on the nightstand cuts into his afterglow. Gladio looks at it, his good mood faltering. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. Who the hell would be messaging him at this hour? He’s here, Noct’s probably already asleep, and it ain’t exactly the appropriate time to conduct Citadel business.  
  
His curiosity getting the better of him, he picks it up and wakes the display, startled when he sees a text from the mysterious Eirene. He only hesitates for a second before he opens it and reads the message.  
  
_You looked so handsome in your suit tonight, my love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Recipeh for Success for the gorgeous art they drew for this chapter. Check it out over on Tumblr:
> 
> -[Ignis and Gladio's gala outfits!](https://recipeh-for-success.tumblr.com/post/175720781125/so-the-lovely-hellomynameisswordy-and-sauronix)  
> -[Ignis tied up and blindfolded!](https://steamy-recipehs.tumblr.com/post/175770133405/who-knew-that-a-necktie-and-scarf-could-lead-to)
> 
> You can follow me and Swordy on Tumblr:
> 
> @sauronix  
> @hellomynameisswordy
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	19. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It's been too long. I _hate_ that people have had to wait so long on the back of that cliffhanger, so I’m sorry. This turned out to be a hell of a chapter to write, started during the highs of a much needed holiday and slogged through in the midst of serious real life job woes and a crippling crisis of confidence in my ability to write. I can only hope the length of it somehow makes up for the wait. I do realise that it’s effectively 13,000 words of Ignis being too freaked out to realise that he’s in love. Brevity was never my strong point.
> 
> Nix, thank you for being so patient and Atropa, whatever this chapter is, I know it’s a billion times better for your involvement. 
> 
> I hope people enjoy it. <3

The bathroom door closes behind him with a soft click. After a moment's deliberation, he engages the lock—not because he’s expecting Gladio to burst in demanding round two—but more to be guaranteed the solitude needed to work through the myriad thoughts racing through his brain. He studies his reflection in the mirror, as if there might be visible signs of change.

The expression looking back at him softens and he smiles. Even the self-consciousness of studying himself this way isn’t enough to stop him doing it, and he’s also intelligent enough to know why.

His eyes stray to his wrists, to the redness that encircles each of them. Gladio had made sure he couldn’t escape those bonds, yet he’d known that he’d be released in a _heartbeat_ if he’d wanted their activities to stop. He’d given his trust completely tonight and Gladio had shown that it was a gift he would not abuse.

So much to process. Yesterday he’d been certain it was over, at least in Gladio's eyes. The other man's actions implied he was trying to put distance between them, like they’d strayed perilously close to a line they absolutely shouldn’t cross and Gladio had been the one cognizant enough to recognise it and pull them both back to safety.

And yet tonight.

Gladio had accepted his invitation to come up, knowing where it would lead. There was no need—whether real or imagined—for Gladio to take care of him like he had the previous night, no need to ensure that he would take to his bed and stay there. Gladio had insisted he accompany him home, almost certainly expecting an invitation to come inside.

Coming back to himself for a moment, aware of Gladio waiting for him to return, he runs the tap. His fingers dance through the water, biding his time until it becomes temperate enough to use to clean up the results of the night's activities. He takes the folded facecloth off the edge of the sink and goes to work, the mindless task allowing him to return to his thoughts.

After Gladio's rejection the previous evening, he’d been hesitant to repeat his overtures, even though the other man had seemed determined to accompany him home. When the invitation had been accepted, he’d been both pleased and relieved. He needs to be careful though. Just because Gladio came up here tonight doesn’t necessarily mean anything other than he wanted sex. He stills suddenly, the water rushing over his frozen hand. Does _he_ want it to mean more than that?

His eyes return to the mirror. Was this what he was trying to see a few moments before? He breaths in slowly, aware of the erratic beating of his heart. Suddenly, like the ground beneath him has crumbled away without warning, he’s not sure what this thing is between them any more. Not sure what he _wants_ it to be. He comes to a decision, one that may go some way to shedding light on these feelings that he is unable to make sense of.

He'll ask Gladio to stay.

OoOoO

He slips out of the bathroom, acutely aware of the fact that Gladio is still here and his heart speeds up a little when he tries, and fails, not to read anything into that. He raids the pile of folded laundry that he left on the arm of his couch for clean underwear and a t shirt before returning to the bedroom. Should he offer Gladio a drink before broaching the offer of lodgings for the night? If Gladio is already dressed to leave then maybe that decision will be taken out of his hands.

It’s not the case. He opens the door to find the other man sitting on his bed dressed only in his underwear and his heart lifts at the prospect that for once, he’s reading things between them correctly. Then Gladio looks up, and everything he imagined would happen next disappears in an instant, swept away by the icy blast of Gladio's gaze.

“Gladio?”

Although he’s not dressed, Gladio's henley is pooled in his lap as if whatever happens next will determine whether he puts it on or not. There’s a blankness to the man's expression that provides no clues about what minefield Ignis senses he’s about to step into.

“Is something the matter?”

Gladio sighs and twists around to face him properly. As he shifts, a phone is revealed on top of the clothing. Ignis's phone.

“You got a text,” Gladio announces, picking up the device and holding it out. “While you were in the bathroom. Funny time to be getting messages.”

The tone—Gladio's _expression_ —those clamorous warning bells grow more strident as he takes the phone from Gladio and glances at the screen. Setting aside the fact that the other man has been looking through his phone for a moment, his eyes flick over the brief missive before returning to Gladio's face. Gladio looks away and gives a humourless laugh.

“I know it ain’t any of my business, but I never took you for the type to step out on someone.”

Instinctively he re-reads the message, trying to fathom whatever Gladio has seen in it. _You looked so handsome in your suit tonight, my love._

The atmosphere in the room is suddenly a world away from the heat and electricity of earlier on. Gladio's gaze remains coldly expectant.

“You think I’m cheating on you, Gladio?” he asks, somewhat bewildered.

To this, Gladio frowns, heavy eyebrows knitting together. More unexpected is the sneer that accompanies it. Gladio could never be described as ugly, but this expression steals the warmth from his eyes, providing a glimpse of what an enemy might see.

“We don’t have a _relationship_ , Iggy, so it ain’t _me_ you're cheating on.”

“Gladio, I—”

Gladio huffs that sharp laugh again and shakes his head, cutting off any response like the decisive slice of a blade.

“What I don’t get is that you say you _love_ her. I mean, if you just had another fuck-buddy thing goin' on then fair enough, but you’re sending 'I love you's? Man, that’s a whole other level of asshole in my book, and I don’t appreciate you involving me.”

Wait. What in the Six is Gladio talking about? Lifting his phone, he opens the conversation between himself and Eirene. There’s the message she sent seven minutes ago that he just read, commenting on the photograph that he'd emailed her earlier on from his office at the citadel. Before that is a message he sent, a reply to her communication where she wished him well at the gala: _Love you too._

Realisation dawns, improbable though it seems: Gladio has seen these messages and has assumed a romantic relationship between him and Eirene. Surely not... He stares at Gladio, waiting for the man's glacial expression to thaw, for a punchline that never comes. He’s serious. About something he’s utterly, totally wrong about.

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Gladio says, interrupting his thoughts abruptly. “The woman at the gala; the one in the red dress who was all over you?”

“ _What_?”

“ _Eirene_. That was her.”

The way Gladio practically spits out her name lights the touch paper within him, burning through the stupor of being blindsided with these absurd accusations. Whatever Gladio is thinking, he’s no right to be bringing Eirene into this and saying her name like she’s something so utterly contemptible. He doesn’t know her. _How dare he?_

“Before you embarrass yourself any further, the woman in the red dress is Marchesa Phelps,” he begins, his voice low and dangerous. “If you’d bothered to ask me or any number of people present at Noct's party you would have known that she's the editor-in-chief of the Lucis Examiner.”

Gladio visibly falters at this, but recovers quickly, his frown back in place. “Why was she there? I thought they wrote all those shitty articles about Noct?”

“Exactly,” he snaps. “At the planning stages it was discussed and decided that an invitation could be used to curry favour with them so that they might cease this 'Playboy Prince' nonsense that they insist on writing.”

He lets out a measured breath, his anger at Gladio layered on top of memories of the woman in question: her scent—not quite overpowering, but forceful, certainly—and the promises to maybe present Noct in a more favourable light, whispered almost teasingly in his ear before they’d parted company. Extending the invitation to Noct's birthday celebrations, as galling as it had seemed, appears to have enabled them to make inroads with someone with her power and influence.  
  
“She's not someone I would ever choose to associate with, Gladio. She’s opportunistic and utterly self-serving, but as much as I detest the woman, we saw there was a rare opportunity to win her over by inviting her to the gala. It was necessary for me to spend that time with her. It might not have looked like it, but I was working last night, just as you were.”

“Yeah?” Gladio answers, his eyes narrowed. “Just sayin' you looked pretty cosy with her. I’m just wondering how much _work_ you’d have considered doing if it got her off Noct's case?”

The comment fills the room like the poisonous gas from a Marlboro, so heavy and toxic it might be possible to choke on it. The silence between them is absolute. For a split-second something passes across Gladio's expression, a desire to take back those words, perhaps. But just as quickly it disappears, the lack of an attempt to qualify his statement an apparent endorsement of his true feelings, no matter how inarticulately expressed. If he thought he was angry with Gladio before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels at this moment.

“Any warmth you witnessed on my part was simply an act, Gladio. A necessary evil when dealing with people such as her.”

Gladio snorts. “Well if that’s acting then you're pretty damn convincin', Iggy. Maybe it’s all the practice you get, huh? Like when you were asking me to stay last night—was that just you acting too? Were you that desperate for a quick fuck?”

They’re on the threshold of something much darker now, a road that once traveled will allow no return journey. He opens his mouth to respond and stops, the angry words catching in his throat. The pause at least allows him to regain a measure of control. How have things spiralled so quickly? Instead he shakes his head and laughs softly to himself, the sound bitter to his own ears.

“You presume to know me and yet if you actually _did_ , you wouldn’t have even entertained the preposterous notion that I might be romantically or sexually involved with a woman. But as usual, you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?”

This more than anything appears to take the wind out of Gladio's sails. It’s obvious he’s still angry, but there's confusion now too as he throws his hands up in frustration.

“Yeah well, that’s your fuckin' problem, you know that? You keep up such big fuckin' walls, it’s impossible to know which Ignis is the real you.”

Enough. It’s late and there are better things to be doing at this hour than ripping each other apart. He ignores the fact that twenty minutes ago they _were_ doing better things. How quickly it all goes up in smoke. Proof that humanity can never have nice things.

Proof that _he_ can never have nice things.

“Yesterday you seemed happy that I believed you when you said you cared about me,” he responds, “and now you’re making baseless and insulting accusations and insinuating that I’d be prepared to sleep my way into someone's good graces. And yet you question the consistency of _my_ character?”

He shakes his head again, stunned and more wounded than he would ever admit to being. It’s not the words, as unpleasant as they may be, but because it’s _Gladio_ saying them.

“You’ve done so much to convince me otherwise, Gladio, and yet it’s clear you _still_ think me fundamentally unlikeable.”

Gladio closes his eyes and flaps a hand wearily as if he could wave away this situation so easily.

“That ain’t what I meant...”

“No? So explain it to me, Gladio. Tell me; where is all this coming from?”

They stare at each other for several long moments until Gladio breaks the eye contact. He looks away and swipes a hand across his lower jaw. Ignis waits. It’s clear Gladio is warring with himself over his next words and speaking into that silence may influence whatever it is he’s about to say. Eventually Gladio’s hand drops and he huffs a morose sigh.

“Forget it; it doesn’t matter.”

Typical. Gladio talks about him having walls and yet his own have snapped into place right in front of Ignis's eyes. Why is Gladio suddenly being so guarded? He waits until Gladio looks up at him.

“If you won’t talk to me, then I think you should leave.”

Gladio studies him for a moment, that flicker of hesitation passing across his features once more, before he nods. He rights the henley and tugs it on over his head without another word, then sets about locating the rest of his belongings, first here in the bedroom and then out in the living room. The last noise Ignis identifies is the sound of keys being picked up, then there’s that awful finality when his front door opens and closes as Gladio does as he’s been asked and leaves.

Only then does Ignis move to sit down on the bed, his phone—with the innocent message that set in motion this confusing, unpleasant chain of events—still clutched in his hand. As he glances down to the offending item, his eyes stray beyond it to his blue scarf still tied in a loose knot. The material is soft beneath his fingers as he smoothes it out, still damp with his sweat.

Inevitably, he plays back the entire exchange as best he remembers it whilst he clears off the bed and climbs under the covers. Gladio thinks he’s in a relationship, despite the fact that they’ve been sleeping with each other for the last couple of months. Gladio thinks he’s cheating on a woman—ostensibly Eirene—after stumbling across his apparent professions of love for her. Gladio thinks he would cheat on both he and Eirene and prostitute himself to make a problem go away for Noct.

Compounding these horrors is the invasion of his privacy, an utterly different line that Gladio has crossed in his obsession to answer questions that he simply could have asked. With a sigh, he closes his eyes. He should feel outraged— _incensed_ that someone of Gladio's good standing would do something so morally objectionable, but that flame simply won’t ignite.

Because, irrespective of the initial impetus behind their coming together, and as much as he’s mentally denied it to himself, they’ve been _building_ something. Something he’s grown more comfortable referring to as a relationship, even if only in his own head. The cold water in the face reality, however, is that some structures simply aren’t fit for purpose. Maybe this one isn’t. Maybe this never was, and he should have known it all along.

But the worst thing? The thing that unquestionably hurts the most, is that it’s _Gladio_ who has taken a hammer to the foundations and destroyed whatever it is they’d created so far.

OoOoO

He hasn’t been awake long before his phone pings with the first text message. Certain of who it will be from, he ignores it until another one comes through barely a minute later and his curiosity gets the better of him. Groping for the device, he checks the display.

 **Gladio (09/03 9:10 AM):** hey, i'm sorry about last night.

 **Gladio (09/03 9:11 AM):** are we cool?

Cool. Define cool. He drops the phone back onto the nightstand with a tired but indignant sigh. _Yes, Gladio. I’m completely cool with all the things you accused me of last night._

Thinking of Gladio, he realises it’s impossible to stop there and before long he’s remembering earlier in the evening when he'd found himself unable to take his eyes off the other man. It’s easy to recall how his pulse had quickened at the sight of Gladio entering the ballroom, resplendent in his formal robes, his hair caught up in a braid that accentuated his handsome features. Gladio had been the picture of dignity and a worthy shield all evening. Clarus had looked rightly proud.

Embarrassingly, it had taken a monumental effort to remember his own duties for the evening when all he’d really wanted to do was stare, and a few times he’d caught his mind wandering to scenarios that saw him divesting Gladio of his ceremonial attire along with everything he wore underneath.

He rolls onto his back and lets out another long breath. Everything had seemed so wonderful last night. The gala had gone off without a hitch. Noct had delivered his speech magnificently and then thanked him personally for everything he did, which he’d been both surprised and touched by. Gladio had looked spectacular, and there had been something curiously pleasing about possessing intimate knowledge of the much-admired shield-in-waiting that not a single other soul in the room knew about. A shared secret. It had felt nice.

And then after. Even with all the ugly things Gladio had said, the memories of what took place in this very bed have not been tainted. A quick glance reveals his wrists are still mildly bruised.

Just like his heart.

The thought takes him by surprise. His heart has no business being wounded. And yet it is, all the same. All at once, it’s impossible to shake the growing notion that he’s been playing a dangerous game that he’s suddenly and inexplicably lost.

OoOoO

He’s part way through breakfast when his phone pings again.

 **Gladio (09/03 9:55 AM):** ignis?

His handset is next to him on the table, so a quick glance is sufficient to know that he’s seen the message in its entirety. Evidently Gladio is unhappy that he’s received no response to his earlier attempts to smooth things over. He pushes the phone away and carries on eating.

With the morning off, he’s determined to take things at a leisurely pace. As a result, he’s showered and dressed by the time the next text comes through.

 **Gladio (09/03 10:31 AM):** look, we have to work together. you can't keep giving me the cold shoulder.

Despite his determination not to engage with Gladio whilst he’s upset with him, his indignation wins out. Gladio knows how important his role is to him; using work is a cheap ploy. It needles him that he’s falling for it even as he’s typing his response.

 **Ignis (09/03 10:39 AM):** You’re right. From now on I shall burden you no further and endeavour to give you nothing at all.

Unexpectedly, a reply doesn’t come through straight away, even though he can picture Gladio sitting with his phone in hand, frowning as he waits for some kind of contact. It’s a harsh response, but Gladio has said some terrible things and he can’t just—

 **Gladio (09/03 10:45 AM):** that's not what i want.

He bristles. Typical of Gladio to make it about him. Even as he’s thinking it, he knows deep down it’s not true. Gladio has shown repeated evidence that he cares and is considerate to others. He puts his phone down. He’s not going to reply again since he’s being goaded into saying things he shouldn’t and doesn’t really mean. Maybe if he stops, Gladio will take the hint and stop texting.

 **Gladio (09/03 10:50 AM):** i had a really good time last night and i don't want that to be the end.

Or maybe not. When five minutes have passed in blissful silence he thinks maybe Gladio has finally taken the hint. Then his phone pings again.

 **Gladio (09/03 10:59):** will you fucking talk to me?

He picks his phone up and puts it down again. Rinse and repeat. This is ridiculous. Eventually he types a reply.

 **Ignis (09/03 11:08 AM):** With all due respect, Gladiolus I don’t think you know what you want. The one thing you can be sure of however is that it isn’t me.

 **Gladio (09/03 11:10 AM):** what am i supposed to think when you won't tell me who eirene is?

So finally we get to the root of the problem. His first instinct is that protective anger again. Eirene has been the one good constant his entire life, the one person who has made him feel that he has value as a person. Yet just as quickly he pictures Gladio, as if his own brain is trying to contest that point. _Would it actually kill you to believe that I’m concerned about you?_

He puts his phone down again and goes to make himself another coffee. Gladio has mentioned Eirene's name before, but he can’t place when. As the coffee maker burbles happily on the worktop he dredges his memory looking for the answer. It takes several minutes—his fresh cup is brewed and in hand—before it comes to him.

The night Cor remonstrated with them, when afterwards they'd gone to a bar to try and sort out their differences. Ignoring for the moment how well _that_ had gone, he realises Gladio had mentioned the name he’d seen in his phone when they’d exchanged contact details. He'd never elucidated who she was then, but it’s clear that the other man has remained curious about her all this time. Irritated that Gladio hasn’t just asked, he types—

 **Ignis (09/03 11:28 AM):** I'm sure you can come up with a whole host of more entertaining ideas about who she is than the reality. But if you insist on knowing then I’ll meet you somewhere to talk. At that point, I believe we can consider this relationship between us concluded.

He stares at the text for a moment before hastily deleting 'relationship' and replacing it with 'thing' before he hits send. The reply pings almost instantly.

 **Gladio (09/03 11:30 AM):** can you blame me for not wanting to be a homewrecker?

 _Homewrecker_? Good grief.

 **Ignis (09/03 11:32 AM):** Dress it up however you want. I’m sure my imaginary crimes are a thousand times more serious than you invading my privacy by reading my messages.

 **Gladio (09/03 11:47 AM):** i said i was sorry. what else am i supposed to do?

That's the million crown question, isn’t it? His fingers hover over the keypad for a moment. Before he can start to type, an alert pops up reminding him that he’s got a meeting in just over an hour. He sighs and types:

 **Ignis (09/03 11:49 AM):** I don’t know, Gladio. I just know I can’t do this anymore.

 **Gladio (09/03 11:50 AM):** can we talk? in person?

It’s infinitely more sensible than this ridiculous back and forth; indeed he’d suggested it himself. But first he needs distance. He’ll tell Gladio about Eirene—after all, there’s nothing to hide in respect to who she is to him. But if things between them feel over at that point? A few days will help reconcile himself to the idea.

 **Ignis (09/03 11:53 AM):** We can, but not yet. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.

 **Gladio (09/03 13:04 AM):** okay...

 **Gladio (09/03 13:06 PM):** i'm sorry, ignis.

Finally his phone falls silent.

OoOoO

After the hustle and bustle of preparing for the gala, swiftly followed by the majesty of the event itself, the day feels flat and strangely empty. That afternoon, he meets as planned with the crown's public relations team to discuss and dissect the evening's events, both in relation to their allies and their enemies. They thank him for his handling of certain individuals, namely Marchesa Phelps, and he forces a smile and accepts their praise knowing, with the subsequent damage to relations between him and Gladio, it is a Pyrrhic victory at best.

He checks in with Noct later on, who sounds as if he’s just woken up to answer the phone, despite being well into the afternoon. Noct insists he doesn’t need anything; Prompto is coming over later on and they’re going to get pizza and probably play some video games. An invitation to join them is extended, which he politely declines. Before hanging up, he thanks Noct again for the things he’d said in his speech. He smiles when Noct insists every word of it is true.

At six, he shuts down his laptop and heads home. He stops off at the market to pick up some ingredients on the way back to his apartment. The bottle of wine slips into his basket without any conscious thought on his part. Once home, he makes a simple vegetable stir fry and sits alone at his table with his meal and a modest-sized glass of the white wine. With nothing else to occupy him, he inevitably thinks of Gladio.

There have been no further texts. He asked Gladio to wait for him to make contact and the other man is clearly respecting his wishes. Yet he cannot escape the traitorous part of him that wants Gladio to call or text. Or even turn up at his door. He showers, then retires to bed with a book, but when he can’t seem to focus, he decides to admit defeat and call it a day. As his hand flicks off the lamp, his eyes stray to the blue scarf hanging on the back of the door. Even in the darkness, he can still picture it distinctly. How wonderful things had seemed last night. Maybe it had been the grand finale without him even realising it.

The following day they’re back to the ordinary routine—if life in a sovereign household ever had a routine that could be considered ordinary. He spends the morning in his office, busying himself with paperwork, which passes the hours but leaves him feeling dulled yet restless as a result of too much coffee. With a spare couple of hours between engagements, he’d normally head down to the gym to work off some of that caffeine-fuelled antsiness, but going there exponentially increases the risk that he’ll run into Gladio. Instead, he switches to water and heads out into the city to find himself some lunch.

In the afternoon he collects Noct from his apartment to drive them across the city to a royal engagement. Last month the Lucian arts council finally completed their two year restoration of the Central Insomnia Grand Opera House and this evening marks the official opening. On his eighteenth birthday, Noct was made Patron of the Arts and as such, duties such as this fall to him rather than his father. Despite his initial grumbling, Noct has discovered it has its perks—after all, the arts broadly encompasses many of his own interests—but this perhaps isn’t one of them.

“So whaddawe having to sit though tonight?” Noct asks from where he’s slouched in the passenger seat, watching the city lights through half-closed eyes. Ignis gave up long ago trying to get him to follow royal protocol and ride in the back of crown vehicles. He glances over but Noct doesn’t look up. He looks impeccably smart in his dark pinstripe suit, his tie and pocket square several shades darker than his eyes. There’s an aroma of shaving gel, indicating that he’s followed advice and removed his post-gala stubble for the occasion.

“It's a performance of _Il Dilemma della Regina_.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“I believe it’s a Altissian romantic tragedy.”

“Oh gods...”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “It was described as 'masterful' and 'engaging' in its opening reviews.”

“Only because people are too polite to use 'pretentious' and 'boring', Specs.”

He glances over again to give Noct a stern look that never actually reaches its intended recipient. Admittedly, it’s a half-hearted frown at best because he’s never been a huge fan of the opera himself. But this is a PR opportunity for Noct—a chance to show that the future king of Insomnia is cultured and mature—and thus it must be treated with appropriate gravitas. As they pull away from a traffic signal, Ignis lets out a sigh. After the stress of the gala, another quiet night at home would be heavenly.

“Please just _try_ to look interested,” he implores wearily, “and it should go without saying, but you _can’t_ be seen on your phone, Noct. The last thing we need is some paparazzo getting a photo of you playing King's Knight during the climatic denouement.”

Now Noct does flick him a guilty look, having just woken the offending device to check for messages. Or possibly a news report of a catastrophic power outage in the theatre district.

“Where's Gladio, anyway?” Noct says as he puts his phone down again. “How come he gets out of this? Shouldn’t he be here shielding me when I’m on official duties?”

For the first time since this conversation started, Ignis is glad that Noct is too busy looking out the window. All the same, he schools his expression into something passive on the off-chance that Noct might look his way. He tries to remember a time when the mere mention of Gladio's name didn’t evoke some kind of emotion in him. Noct is still waiting, an expectant rise to his dark brows when he turns, the lack of answer evidently piquing his interest.

“Gladio had a prior engagement and his father is attending the opening anyway because he's a good friend of the theatre's artistic director, so in effect, he is your shield tonight. With Clarus, there will also be a small glaive presence, so it was decided that Gladio need not attend.”

“Lucky Gladio,” Noct grumbles.

“Indeed,” he answers dryly, turning the wheel and guiding the car into the theatre's underground parking garage. “Still, we're here, so we should endeavour to enjoy the performance, no matter how tempting it is to sleep through.”

Noct laughs, evidently amused that he’s not alone in his desires to be somewhere else tonight. The reserved parking area comes into view and Ignis pulls the car into the appropriate space before turning off the engine. They’re a little early so neither of them make a move to get out of the car.

“Do you remember the names of all the people you’re supposed to speak to?”

“Pretty much,” Noct answers before launching into a full-on rearrangement of the hair that frames his face. A nervous habit. Ignis charitably pretends not to notice.

“I’ll stay close by,” he assures, giving Noct a reassuring smile once he’s done grooming. “Come on. Let’s go and soak up some culture.”

OoOoO

It’s rapidly approaching midnight when they leave. All in all it’s been a successful evening. Noct has mingled and said the right things to the right people, and, every time Ignis had glanced over at him during the performance he’d looked like he was actually paying attention. Although no expert himself, the music couldn’t be faulted even if the storyline of a woman trading power and influence for love had left a lot to be desired in his opinion.

“So what did you think of _Il Dilemma della Regina_?” Ignis asks, flicking on the wipers as the first few drops of rain start to splat against the windshield.

Noct nods, then a moment later he nods again like he wants to give the answer some real thought. “Yeah, I liked it—well—the parts of it I could understand, at any rate.”

Ignis smiles. “From speaking to the artistic director, they were using quite an obscure dialect. I’m afraid I found it similarly challenging.”

“Good job you printed out those translations, huh?”

“Quite.”

The companionable silence descends again, punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the wiper blades and the rumble of the tyres as they make the journey home. Ignis allows his thoughts to drift; for once it’s not in the direction of this situation with Gladio.

“You've got to admit the story was a little far-fetched.” His eyes flick to the rear view mirror and then back to the road. “Why the queen would jeopardise everything she’d worked so hard for for a woman is beyond me.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Noct replies, a soft half-smile on his face as he leans against the window. “I think love's a pretty good reason to go against the establishment.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow, unable to resist glancing over at his companion. “You realise you _are_ the establishment, Noct? Rebellion is hardly something the crown prince should be encouraging.”

Noct flaps a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying that maybe having someone in your life isn’t such a bad thing, you know?”

For a split second Ignis wonders if they’re still talking about the performance. He falters, recovers, but the question is out of his mouth, riding the wave of incredulity, before he can think better of it.

“Even if it was a distraction from her duties?”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think it was. When the queen had Olimera she had someone to fight for. She was a _better_ queen. Things only went to shit in the kingdom _after_ Olimera was killed.”

Ignis doesn’t respond, but the involuntary rise of his eyebrows is enough.

“What?” Noct challenges, a little defensive.

“Nothing.” He glances over at the streetlights slashing across Noct's face. Relents a little. “Sorry. I’m just impressed that you’ve given it so much thought.”

“Yeah?” Noct visibly relaxes. He smiles, the expression teasing. “Maybe you should have given it a bit _more_ thought, huh?”

Ignis turns his attention back to the road. Once again Noct is surprising him and demonstrating that he’s growing, both as a person and a future leader. The small, reckless part of him imagines himself telling Noct about Gladio. About everything they’ve done together. About how Gladio makes him feel. The reality however is that neither of them speak again until they reach Noct's apartment, and the conversation that finally breaks the silence is about their schedules for the week and nothing more.

OoOoO

  
For a day or so, he dwells on Noct's words, trying to figure out if he’s a better person with Gladio as a part of his life. It’s undeniable that there’s something between them. Trying to pretend there isn’t was a failure in the past and would be so again. The problem, in his mind, is that neither of them seem to know _what_ this thing is anymore.

The following day they’re both in attendance at a Crownsguard meeting—the first time he’s seen Gladio since the night he asked him to leave. They nod a greeting at each other before taking their seats at opposite ends of the table. A couple of times he thinks Gladio is watching him, but every time he looks up Gladio's attention is elsewhere. The meeting is tedious, as they often are when Adamo has his sights set on financial frivolities that he believes require addressing, and Regis allows the finance minister his head for almost twenty minutes before he gently but firmly suggests that they move onto other issues.

The relief is fairly palpable as Adamo sits down in a jangle of ceremonial robes, giving an unrestrained huff just in case anyone is unsure about his feelings toward the crown's use of public coffers. Ignis is amongst this number, because if they can get onto proper business and focus on something else, then he can stop thinking about the last time they sat through one of Adamo's rants and, more specifically, how he and Gladio had entertained themselves to get through the tedium.

Instinctively he glances at his phone resting on the conference table. Since he asked Gladio to give him time, there haven’t been any more messages. It’s heartening that Gladio has respected his wishes, but this can’t carry on, nor does he want it to. At the very least they need a working relationship in order to fulfil their duties toward Noct. Surreptitiously, he slides the device towards him and fires off a text. Barely five seconds have passed before he sees Gladio reach for his own phone, tilting it slightly so he can read whatever’s appeared on his screen. Ignis watches him scan the message, jaw tensing and relaxing almost imperceptibly before he puts his phone back down. Drautos is speaking now, so Gladio feigns attention for a moment, then quickly looks over. Their eyes meet and he nods, and with that one simple gesture Ignis feels both relieved and slightly anxious that the lines of communication are open once more.

OoOoO

“Hey.”

Ignis turns, praying that Gladio hasn’t noticed the way he started at the greeting. Aware of his quickening pulse, he closes his book and gestures for Gladio to take the seat across from him. It’s mid afternoon, and the coffee shop he'd suggested in his text has only a handful of people occupying its other tables. He'd picked this time specifically, counting on the lull to give them a semblance of privacy. It’s a gamble that’s paid off, allowing him to secure the nook towards the back of the shop.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not,” Ignis assures. “I’ve only just arrived myself.”

As if to prove this point, the waitress appears, smiling warmly at them both. She stops at their table and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her gaze lingers on Gladio for a fraction of time that is enough to remind Ignis that the other man has no end of admirers. And yet _he_ is the one Gladio continues to pursue.

“Gentlemen. What can I get you?”

They order—a latte for Ignis and a de-caf tea for Gladio—and the silence remains unbroken as they watch her head behind the counter to fix up their order. Gladio looks good. He’s still in his Crownsguard fatigues, but his leather jacket is now unbuttoned to reveal a tight black singlet that hugs the contours of his broad chest. His hair is tied back in contrast to how it was this morning at the meeting. Like the style he wore for the gala, it serves to accentuate the cut of his jawline. Suddenly Ignis finds himself held by that amber gaze.

“I’m really glad you messaged me,” Gladio says. “How have you been?”

He nods, wishing his coffee was here so at least he’d have something to do with his hands. “I’m very well, thank you. You?”

“Yeah. I’ve been okay. Better now.” Gladio holds the eye contact so there is no misinterpreting his meaning. “I’m really sorry, Iggy. What I said the other night... what I did... well, there’s no excuse.”

The apology is sincere and seeing Gladio's face and hearing it from his own lips resonates more than the mea culpa he received via text the morning after. He’s about to continue when the waitress re-appears with their drinks. She sets down the steaming cups, which they both immediately tend to until they’re alone once more. The ball is now in his court.

“I won’t lie, Gladio; I’m still upset about what happened. You said some terrible things about me; things that are wholly unjustified. And it goes without saying that you had no business looking at my phone.”

“I know, _gods_ —”

“But I _do_ want to explain to you about Eirene.” He studies his coffee for a moment, a pause to collect his thoughts. “Because you’re right. I do keep up walls. But there's no reason for you not to know about Eirene and what she is to me.”

It’s clear Gladio's torn between telling him he doesn’t have to say anything unless he wants to and keeping quiet so that his curiosity can finally be sated. Evidently he opts for the latter and Ignis takes this as his cue to continue.

“It’s okay, Gladio. I’ve given everything a great deal of thought over the last few days and I realised that I _want_ to tell you about her. She’s the most important person in my life, so if anything, I’m doing her a disservice by allowing her to remain a mystery to you.” He rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone. A few taps, and he turns the screen so that Gladio can see it.

“This is Eirene.”

It’s a relatively recent picture of her that Gladio is now looking at. In it, Eirene is smiling into the camera although her expression is one of feigned annoyance that she’s having to pose for the shot. Unusually her hair is loose, making her look younger than her fifty-two years. Time has been kind to her—a reward, he thinks, for her generous soul. In the photo she’s holding a child, no older than two or three, who has squirmed in her lap and is no longer facing the camera. He looks away from the screen to study Gladio's expression, but it’s apparent that Gladio has no idea what to say. Not surprising, since a photograph on its own doesn’t really answer anything.

“Eirene isn’t my mother, but for all intents and purposes she may as well be,” he explains, sending the phone to sleep before tucking it back in the inside pocket of his jacket. “But for you to understand why that’s the case, I need to go right back to the beginning.”

Gladio nods, then says, “You’re from Tenebrae, right?”

“I am, but my family is Lucian-born; House Scientia has served as royal retainers for several generations. I have an uncle who is here at the citadel, although we rarely cross paths. My parents however made their home in Tenebrae a number of years before I was born.”

Gladio frowns at the apparent contradiction. In front of him, his tea sits untouched. “But you came back to Insomnia when you were six, didn’t you? I don’t remember ever meeting your parents.”

“You wouldn't, because I came here alone.” Ignis sighs, briefly questioning the wisdom of telling Gladio all this. “My uncle is my father's twin brother. As is the way with the Amicitias, the firstborn are duty-bound to serve the crown, but my father's passion was technology. Since they were twins, my uncle agreed to go in his place, but on one condition—my father must take responsibility for producing the heir who would be expected to serve the crown when the time came.”

Gladio visibly starts at this. “So in order for your dad to duck his duties, you were born into servitude?”

He smiles, touched by Gladio's indignation on his behalf. “I wouldn’t put such a negative spin on it; more so I was born to fulfil a role, just as you were.”

Gladio considers this for a moment, then makes a grudging sound of agreement. “But a shield only assumes that role when they and the monarch come of age. You were just a kid; that don’t seem right.”

“But had something happened to Regis, both you and Noct could have been expected to assume your own roles much earlier than planned,” he counters. “The original intention was for me to come to Insomnia and enter into service at the age of sixteen.”

Gladio's eyebrows twitch downwards. “There's a hell of a difference between sixteen and six. At least I got a regular childhood. I mean, taking you away from your parents and your home...”

Ignis shrugs one shoulder, still smiling. He studies his coffee thoughtfully.

“I can assure you, Gladio, I have no issue with what was expected of me, even at that tender age.” When Gladio doesn’t look convinced he adds, “You’re assuming that I could have had a better life in Tenebrae, but the truth is, had it not been for the agreement to produce an heir, I don’t believe my parents would have chosen to have a child. By all accounts, my mother was a workaholic too. They lived for their many projects.”

He can feel the weight of Gladio's shocked expression—he _must_ be shocked or surely there would be a quip about how volitional overwork runs in the family. It’s to be expected though. Gladio adores his family and probably can’t countenance the idea that he could be better off without them. He wonders how differently he’d have felt if he’d had siblings, or even just parents who were less self-absorbed.

“Was it so bad?” Gladio asks quietly. Ignis meets that concerned gaze and shakes his head, offering a smile that he hopes will reassure.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Unconventional, might be a better description. By all accounts I was a bright, inquisitive child, and they related to that if nothing else. In turn, I was eager to please; I basked in their praise when I rose to their challenges and when I failed them, I knew that I simply had to try harder.”

“Iggy—”

He puts up a hand to stall Gladio's protest.

“I was a _child_ , Gladio. I knew no different. Eirene did, though.”

For a moment he allows himself to picture her, with her warm smile and honeyed-brown curls that perpetually fell about her face as she loved and nurtured him. Almost two decades later, the curls are greying, but the smile remains as kind and comforting as ever. And her love and guidance continues to be equally as important to him. He realises Gladio is still watching him, waiting for the rest of the story.

“Eirene lived near us. She taught me Tenabraen and Galadhian, which was how she initially convinced my parents to let me spend time with her. She also taught me how to have fun.” He smiles wistfully at the memory. “And to bake. I owe my love of the culinary arts to Eirene.”

“So how come you ended up at the citadel?” Gladio asks, reaching for his drink like he’s suddenly remembered that it’s there.

“When I was six, my parents disappeared.”

The cup stalls halfway to Gladio's lips. “ _Disappeared_? What happened to them?”

He shakes his head, keeping his expression neutral despite the fact that his heart is suddenly beating a little faster. He ignores the reason why, instead picking up his coffee and taking a careful sip, as if he’s gauging the temperature. It’s a stalling tactic, but he’s counting on the fact that Gladio doesn’t know him well enough to see it for what it is. Or if he does, he’ll automatically assume this is a difficult subject for him to talk about it. That much, at least, is true.

“I don’t know. I'd spent the day with Eirene, but when she took me home, my parents weren’t there. They didn’t return the following day either.”

Understandably, a million questions pass across Gladio's eyes. Whatever story he was expecting about Eirene's identity, it clearly wasn’t this. After several moments' contemplation he says, “So what happened then?”

“After the days turned into weeks and there was no sign of them, Eirene contacted my uncle and arranged for me to come here.”

“You couldn’t have stayed with her?”

“Believe me, it’s a question that my six year old self asked repeatedly for the first few months I was here. I never missed my parents, but I cried for Eirene. I felt so alone here.” For a moment he thinks Gladio is going to reach across the table for his hand. Gladio's fingers curl, then he seems to think better of it and pulls them back to rest in his lap.

“Eirene wanted me to have the opportunities afforded to me by growing up at the citadel. With the benefit of hindsight, I understand her reasoning.”

Gladio nods, looking thoughtful for a moment. “I remember Regis bringing you to something when you first arrived. Apart from when you were introduced to everyone, you never said a word.”

Gladio huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t think anyone knew what to make of you. I remember overhearing Regis telling my dad that you were really, _really_ smart. I guess I figured you'd think I was too dumb to be friends with.”

It's surprising that even these long forgotten memories are still painful in a way. “On the contrary, there may only be a year between us in age, but you seemed so much older. I envied how confidently you moved around nobility and never thought you'd want to be friends with someone like me since I'd never been around royalty myself. I already knew what it was like not to fit in—I hadn’t in Tenebrae and now I didn’t fit here either.

“It became easier once Regis determined that I would be a suitable companion for Noct. I was allowed to step into the role I was born into earlier than planned, and it gave me purpose. Having the opportunity to focus on that helped me set aside my upset at leaving Eirene behind and not having any friends here. The only sadness I carry is that coming to the citadel meant she could no longer be a direct part of my life. I owe her so much.”

He meets Gladio's gaze. “Eirene was the _only_ one to treat me like I was a good person, regardless of how well I did on a test or how hard I studied. I know people think I’m cold and aloof, but if I have any humanity at all, it's down to her.” He falters, surprised to find that his throat is tight and his eyes, when he blinks, feel wet. He looks away for a moment to collect himself. Once recovered, he nods and offers Gladio an encouraging smile.

“Please understand, Gladio, I’m not telling you any of this to elicit sympathy. Without wishing to sound flippant, it is what it is. My life so far has been wonderful. It may not have been a conventional start, but I’m thankful for what I have.”

“Eirene sounds like an amazing person,” Gladio says. “So is she still in Tenebrae?”

“Yes. She was studying law, but ultimately decided her future lay elsewhere. She’s spent her life fostering children.” He smiles at the recollection of what she’s told him many times over the years. “She always says I was her first, and if any of her other children turn out as well as me, then she knows she chose the right path.”

They study each other for a moment. Gladio's expression is warm, confirming that he was right to share his past with the other man—this part, at least.

“So how often do you get to see her?” Gladio asks, breaking into his thoughts.

The fact that the answer doesn’t come readily tells him it’s been too long. Time. It's always time. Understandably, given past history, the Lucian royal family aren’t in any rush to return to Tenebrae.

“I’m in regular contact with her via phone and video calling. She's privy to what’s happening in my life, so I still feel very close to her.”

He’s surprised when Gladio laughs. “Somehow I doubt that Eirene knows what's going on between us.”

Ignis picks up his coffee cup and takes a considered sip, partly to stifle the smile that curves on his lips. “ _Actually_ , she does.”

He allows himself the satisfaction of Gladio's startled expression before he offers an explanation.

“Eirene is my confidant, and she can only provide valuable counsel if she knows the truth.”

Gladio is silent for several moments. Evidently there are a number of things he’d like to ask, and the curiosity dances across his features as if caught in the light of a flame.

“She knows that we're...?”

Heavens, is Gladio _blushing_? It’s impossible not to enjoy seeing the other man flustered, and he eventually gives up on trying to hide his smile.

“Yes, Gladio. Eirene is fully aware of what we are to each other.”

For a split second, Gladio's eyes narrow. Had Ignis been looking away—had he been _blinking_ —he would have missed the look that flits across Gladio's face in that moment. It’s inscrutable, but the fact that it happened at all speaks of Gladio's reaction to those words. Belatedly, he realises how it sounds. _What we are to each other._ No wonder Gladio flinched that way, because somehow he’s made it sound more than the arrangement that they’ve agreed to. Swallowing his embarrassment, he looks away hurriedly although he’s still aware of Gladio shifting in the seat across from him. Eventually he’s no choice but to meet Gladio's gaze and it’s clear Gladio has been waiting for him to look up before he speaks.

“So... while we’re on the subject,” Gladio asks somewhat hesitantly. “What _about_ us? I mean, where do we go from here?”

And here it is—the question he’s been dreading. In his head the million or so times he rehearsed what he’d say if Gladio asked, it had all sounded so simple, but now with Gladio across the table from him he realises that it’s anything but. He takes a breath and begins.

“With all that’s happened recently, I’ve been thinking about Eirene and everything she sacrificed for me. Please don’t take it as my blaming you, Gladio, but since this thing between us started, I know I’ve been more distracted. I’ve made decisions that have been foolish, too risky. We've done things that, had we been caught, would have jeopardised both of our positions—our roles that we've both worked so hard for.”

“But we've got something good,” Gladio argues, evidently sensing that things are moving in a direction he doesn’t like.

“In some respects, yes. But you've also got to admit that it’s had some disastrous consequences. You would be shield by now if it weren’t for me.”

“But that’s the thing,” Gladio says, suddenly animated. “My dad spoke to me after the gala. He thinks I’ve been doing such a good job recently that he wants to move the ceremony forward.”

“That’s wonderful—”

“So don’t you see? This _ain’t_ a bad thing. Sure there were a few issues at the start, but now we're both clear about what this is—”

“Are we?” Ignis interjects.

Gladio looks at him suddenly. Just like the night of the gala, when Ignis had asked him to explain himself, he looks as if he’s on the verge of saying something that he knows, once it’s out of his mouth, he won’t be able to take back. Caught perhaps between what he wants to say and what he thinks he should say. Or maybe they’re both the same thing.

“Gladio?”

Gladio looks as if he comes to a decision before he looks up and nods. “Yeah, we're clear. Friends with benefits, right?”

Ignis studies him for a moment longer then nods himself. This is good. This is what they both want. Yet into this consensus he feels compelled to offer more, even though Gladio hasn’t asked him directly. Since they’re clearing the air it makes sense to mention it now.

“And I say this not expecting an answer in return, but I want you to know that this... arrangement between us. You’re the only person I’m doing this with.”

For reasons he can’t fathom, he drops his eyes to avoid Gladio's gaze. Surely this is what Gladio wants to hear given how upset he was at the thought of others being involved? Then again, what if Gladio assumes he’s only telling him to try and extract the same information in return? What if Gladio wants to keep his options open? After all, they’ve literally just defined that this isn’t a relationship. Maybe—

“Same,” Gladio says softly. “There's only you.”

They’re studying each other and suddenly it feels like the world has fallen away around them. Gladio's answer has created a strange, but not unpleasant, feeling in his stomach. He needs to ask what he means, but, in potentially the world's most unfortunate timing, their waitress is suddenly approaching, smiling and asking if she can get them anything else, and the moment is lost completely.

  
OoOoO

It’s impossible not to dwell on those words, but with time and distance every mental repetition of them starts to sound distorted, like a message that loses or gains something when passed between several different people. After a few days he's convinced himself that Gladio was simply volunteering that information because he’d done the same, and instead returns to focusing on their reaffirming of what this thing between them is. Or isn’t.

That this has come to a head now is a good thing. They both have duties that are infinitely more important than either of them. Better that they don’t lose sight of that. Talking about his life in Tenebrae has given him renewed clarity about the situation. For all Noct's sureness that having someone worth fighting for would make a person better at their roles, he knows that clean lines marking out the rules of engagement make for less ambiguity. And distraction.

Yet, when Gladio calls him as he’s powering down his computer four days after their meeting in the coffee shop, that feeling in his stomach makes itself known again. He debates whether to answer it, before mentally giving himself a shake. He’s being ridiculous.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Gladio says. “I was just about to put it down.”

“Sorry,” he lies. “I'm in my office. I was on another call.”

“Crap, sorry.”

“It's okay, I was done. I’m just about to head home.” He cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he slides files into his briefcase. “What can I do for you, Gladio?”

“Would you be able to call at my house on your way home?”

Ignis doesn’t answer right away. In truth, he’s a little taken aback that Gladio is being so forward, which is stupid really since it’s not like it’s the first time.

“Oh, hey, this isn’t a booty call, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Gladio adds quickly. “It’s just I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh.” He clicks the briefcase shut and stands, pushing his chair back under his desk. “Very well then. I’ll call.”

“Great.” There's a pause, then Gladio says, “Look, Iggy, I know we said friends with benefits, but I don’t want you to think that the friends bit ain't important to me, okay?”

“Of course,” he replies, feeling suitably chastised for assuming that Gladio was only calling to invite him over for sex. “I’m leaving now so I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Cool. See you soon.”

He heads straight down to the parking garage, nodding a greeting at the two members of the Crownsguard on duty at the entrance. Gladio says he has something for him, yet he automatically jumped to the conclusion Gladio was only calling him for sex. Somehow, he can’t help but think it says more about him than it does about Gladio.

He makes the short drive to the Amicitia mansion in silence, all the while drumming an imaginary beat on the steering wheel. There’s no reason for him to feel so nervous and yet he does. Gladio answers the door shortly after his first knock. He’s obviously been home a while, judging by his relaxed attire and bare feet. The faded black t-shirt clings to his broad frame. Gladio smiles, his expression filled with warmth.

“Hey, Iggy. Come on in.”

“Where is everybody?” he asks, looking and listening for signs of life elsewhere in the mansion as he follows Gladio through into the kitchen, trying hard not to be distracted by the curves of Gladio's backside beneath his grey jersey shorts. He’s eventually able to tear his eyes away, his attention turning to surveying the kitchen with no small amount of envy at the magnificent setup the Amicitias have. On one wall there are shelves with rows and rows of mason jars filled with spices and preserves. He could cook some spectacular dishes in here.

“Iris has gone to a friend's birthday party and is staying over,” he realises Gladio is saying.

“What about Jared?”

“He's off for a few days; gone to stay with his sister across the city.”

“Really,” he replies, and the note in his voice causes Gladio to turn. The fact that the house is empty save Gladio tells him this was obviously just a ruse to bring him here for sex. Clearly his first instinct was right, after all. “Let me guess; your dad is staying over at the citadel, right?”

Gladio frowns, but he gives a small, uncertain laugh, as if he’s not sure how best to steer this conversation away from danger.

“Uh, well yeah, my dad _is_ at the citadel tonight, but he'll probably be home at some point—look, Iggy, I wasn’t lying when I said this wasn’t a booty call. I know how this might look to you, but I just wanted you to come over so I could give you this.”

Gladio crosses the room to pick up something that Ignis can’t see. When he turns, he realises Gladio is holding a book, which he automatically accepts when Gladio walks over and holds it out to him.

“It’s a book of recipes from Tenebrae,” Gladio announces, somewhat unnecessarily because he’s already leafing through the pages. He stops when he realises that Gladio is still talking.

“You said you remember baking with Eirene; Noct told me you keep trying to make that dessert he liked so I figured even if it wasn’t in here, you might get a kick outta making some of these recipes.”

Ignis shakes his head, completely taken aback. “Gladio. It’s... this is...”

The book is old. Gilt-edged. Beautiful. Not something Gladio could source from a high street bookseller. It’s—

“Too much,” he says, finishing the thought out loud. He shakes his head, mentally checking himself as he offers the book back. “It’s a wonderfully thoughtful gift, Gladio, but I can’t possibly accept it.”

Gladio steps forward, even though there’s little space separating them already. “You can and will, okay?”

“But...”

“Listen,” Gladio says softly. “I feel bad about the shit I gave you about Eirene. I had no right to push you and whilst I’m glad you shared your story with me, I’m sorry that it happened under these circumstances. And I know you don’t want me to feel bad for you, but whether you believe it or not, you went through some rough times as a kid, Iggy. If I could turn back the clock, I’d be that friend you needed when you first came to Insomnia. I can’t do that, but I _can_ be your friend now. If you want me to be, I mean.”

For a moment he doesn’t know what to say. Once again he’d lined up the dominoes only for Gladio to make them fall in haphazard and unexpected ways. Gladio's expression is soft and sincere and it’s impossible not to be thrown by how that makes him feel. Their talk in the coffee shop was a chance to hit the reset—to re-draw the rules of engagement so everyone knew where they stood. They’re work colleagues who happen to be sexually compatible. That’s it. _That’s it._

And yet everything at this moment is screaming that it's not. And he’s afraid of what that means.

He swallows hard, his heart hammering in his chest. This is truly fight or flight. But in the back of his mind he knows that running has got him precisely nowhere as far as this situation with Gladio is concerned, so with those past failures serving as his evidence base, he opts for the alternative.

Adrenaline make it difficult to successfully navigate the path between assertiveness and aggression as he discards the book on the side and crushes himself to Gladio's chest. The speed catches Gladio off guard, the momentum pushing him back into the countertop next to the refrigerator. Hungrily he finds Gladio's lips and kisses him hard. Fortunately Gladio yields to this onslaught, allowing himself first to be kissed and, once he’s over the initial surprise, to answer in kind.

He allows Gladio to push back, but before the balance of power can shift completely, he begins a fresh offensive, fire and nerves cheering him on, willing him to emerge the victor. Every time he inhales, he breathes in Gladio's scent, and his body reacts as strongly to this as it has all the times when the other man has been unclothed in his presence. Gladio's hands are in his hair and he permits the disruption to his meticulous styling because telling Gladio to stop would be borderline criminal at this point.

Still holding fistfuls of Gladio's t-shirt, he reluctantly pulls back. He’s expecting Gladio to laugh or say something inane like, _well this is a turn up for the books,_ but evidently there’s something in his expression which puts a stop to any smart remarks. They stay that way, slightly breathless for several heartbeats of time. Gladio's gaze is searching. What he’s looking for isn’t clear, but Ignis endures the scrutiny as he conducts a search of his own—anything that tells him Gladio doesn’t want to take this any further.

There’s nothing, though. Gladio's chest rises and falls evenly beneath his hands. His own pulse is now a sharp staccato. Something needs to happen or the moment will be lost—that's happened far too often recently, Ignis realises belatedly. Not now. As far as he’s concerned, this is only going to end one way.

He swoops in for one last bruising kiss, then jerks Gladio's t-shirt up and over his head. Seconds after it hits the floor, Gladio acquiesces once more, allowing determined fingers to hook into the waistband of his shorts, which are dragged downwards along with his underwear. Ordinarily, Gladio appears to relish showing off his impressive physique—any disrobing is usually accompanied by a wry smile that says he knows how good he looks—but tonight he’s deferring that authority, which is dizzyingly intoxicating.

In the torturous couple of seconds where Gladio kicks off his lower clothing, Ignis's eyes are helplessly drawn to the other man's erection now that it’s freed. The head that stands proud glistens with a pearl of pre-come. Ignis swallows again, his mouth suddenly and inexplicably dry. He wants Gladio with every fibre of his being. This, he’s confident of even though he’s amazed he can generate any kind of coherent thought with Gladio naked and _wanting_ right in front of him.

Wasting not a second longer, he lunges forward again, kissing Gladio deeply before taking the other man's bottom lip between his teeth. When it drags free, he nudges Gladio's chin higher, giving him access to the soft stubbled skin of Gladio's throat. The noise Gladio makes when he mouths that flesh sends fire straight to his groin, his erection now painfully constricted beneath his clothing.

He allows Gladio to recover enough of his sensibilities and— _thank the Astrals_ —the man appears to be a mind reader, because his hands seek out Ignis's belt and the fastenings behind it. The groan of relief when Gladio frees his swollen length is embarrassingly loud. Breathing hard, he drops his head to rest it on Gladio's shoulder.

“There's a condom and lube in my wallet. Back pocket.”

He hears himself speaking although it feels like the words are coming from someone else. He's half-expecting Gladio to maybe say it’s not a good idea, or at least suggest they move things up to his bedroom. Gladio does neither; instead there’s a moment of awkward manoeuvring as Gladio reaches around him to find the items in question. When he has them, Gladio discards the wallet on the countertop and carefully takes the condom out of its packaging.

“Put it on,” Ignis orders. When Gladio's hands move toward his own erection he shakes his head, which proceeds to catch the naked man's attention. “No, not on you; on _me_.”

Gladio's eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the instruction. Surprised maybe, but certainly not refusing. They exhale almost simultaneously, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly incongruously loud. There’s a moment where he expects Gladio to try and push them back toward the status quo, but it’s quickly negated when Gladio reaches out, pushing his shirt tails out of the way and steadying his erection in preparation to roll the condom on. Ignis breaths again and closes his eyes, following Gladio's progress through the sensation of latex rolling over his sensitive cock until Gladio's hand bumps against the nest of curls at his groin.

A frisson of excitement runs through him, but it’s quickly tempered by concern. Despite sex being the glue that binds them, they’ve never actually discussed their preferences—what they will and won’t consent to. He doesn’t want Gladio to agree to this because he feels guilty about what he did.

“Ignis,” Gladio says, voice cutting into his thoughts. “Stop overthinking shit. I want you to fuck me, okay?”

Ignis nods, then closes his eyes again. There's a sound, more foil being ripped, and then _oh gods._.. Gladio's now lube-slicked hand wraps around his length with a firmness that makes him gasp. He blows out a long breath as it moves slowly, dragging downwards in a manner that precariously straddles the line between pleasure and discomfort. On the verge of losing himself, it takes conscious effort to escape Gladio's touch and he does so by taking a quick step backward, gesturing for the lube to give himself something practical to focus on. He ignores Gladio's gaze as the other man squeezes the last of it onto his fingers, before tossing the foil packet to one side.

He crushes Gladio against the kitchen counter again, but not before grabbing the inside of his muscular thigh and hauling it upwards, creating a space to slot himself into. Before the gap can be closed completely, Ignis slips his hand down between them, fingers searching for the place he really longs to be.

Gladio's breath hitches as Ignis pushes a finger inside him. It slips in so easily it takes tremendous restraint not to push more in straight away. Instead, he works that single finger until he can feel Gladio bucking against him, trying to drive it deeper. After appreciating the dip and swell of Gladio's biceps as he braces himself against the countertop, Ignis obliges with a second finger, and then a third.

It’s almost hypnotic watching Gladio, muscles trembling, eyes squeezed shut as he fights gravity then embraces it, impaling himself on Ignis's fingers with an innate rhythm. So captivated is he by the flush rising on Gladio's chest and neck, Ignis almost forgets that this is supposed to be the prelude to the main event. He pulls his fingers free as Gladio rises again. Gladio opens his eyes and the look of frustrated annoyance is enough to make him react in kind. In response, he jerks Gladio's left leg higher, opening him up further and meeting that gaze with a sharp one of his own.

“Are you ready?”

Gladio's answer is a fraction away from being an eye roll, such is his apparent impatience. Even here, naked and vulnerable he still exudes that need to dominate. It stokes Ignis's ire even though he can’t pinpoint what he’s actually angry about. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything. Maybe it’s the sum of the intangible parts that have haunted him ever since this thing between them began. The guilt of repeatedly fantasising about a man whom he clashes with so frequently. The despicable actions he’d taken with than damned sword in the name of revenge. The humiliation of how badly he’d wanted Gladio that first time. The foolish risks he’s engaged in for the sake of lust. All of it related to this man, and yet he orbits him still, like his elemental force is simply too great. He dips his head, coming to rest on Gladio's shoulder, teeth gritted as he guides his erection home.

The breath he's holding shudders out of him at the sensation of pushing in. His lips find Gladio's neck and he mouths the sweat-dampened skin hard enough to bruise. Gladio groans lowly in his ear; he’s allowing gravity to be his master—whether it’s because he wants it so badly or whether he’s simply trying to prove that he can isn’t clear—but the result pulls a shocky gasp from them both as Gladio impales himself to the hilt. After a moment’s pause to appreciate Gladio's depths, he withdraws and then just as quickly enters him again.

And oh gods, it’s _glorious_. Ordinarily his life is one almighty To Do list and his brain never ever shuts off, but here in this moment, his world is reduced to this single blinding spot of pleasure and he’s helpless in its thrall. Gladio’s skin is hot beneath his fingertips, as his own clothes start to stick to his body. Gladio's breathing grows heavier in sync with his own.

The frenetic pace is inevitable. They find a rhythm and then lose it again. It doesn’t matter. His nerves are on fire, his fingers cramping from how hard he's holding on; being inside Gladio feels _amazing_ and he’s caught in the ambivalence of hurrying toward the inevitable explosive orgasm and wanting it to go on forever.

A tiny voice at the back of his mind is trying to point out how selfish this is, yet he can’t quite bring himself to care. Since he’s holding Gladio's leg up and using his other hand to grip Gladio's shoulder in order to drive the momentum, Gladio's engorged cock bounces, neglected, between them. Gladio himself can’t spare a hand for it either as he grips the side of the refrigerator and the kitchen counter to prevent himself from being overbalanced.

Tiring of the exertion, he rests his head against Gladio's shoulder. The position allows him deeper, his thrusts quick and uncoordinated, barely withdrawing at all now. Gladio makes a noise at his ear, indicating that the angle, the pace and the pressure on his cock now sandwiched between their bodies, agrees with him and the sounds of this large, powerful man at the mercy of some small spot, deep inside his body tips Ignis over the edge and he comes—waves and waves of something undefinable that leaves him gasping and raw.

For the first time since this madness started, he wishes they were doing this in Gladio's bed, because all he wants to do right now is throw off his sweat-dampened clothes, before curling up in the other man's arms and falling asleep—

“Iggy?” Gladio says, his voice slightly hoarse. “You okay?”

He nods mutely, but his legs are like jelly and he almost staggers as he slips from Gladio's body, completely and utterly spent. Somewhere in amongst that fading euphoria, some part of him that’s still vaguely paying attention realises that Gladio has climaxed too. His abdomen is streaked white, and the dampness of Ignis's shirt tells him the material has absorbed some it, hopefully, because— _oh gods_ —this is the Amicitia's _kitchen_ and what in the name of Bahamut was he _thinking_?

Gladio's eyes have closed, and his head is tilted upwards as his chest heaves in and out. His skin glistens with sweat, his hair is damp and falls in his face. Despite his building mortification, Ignis finds himself unable to pull his eyes away from those flushed cheeks and that beautiful, perfectly-sculpted body.

“Fuck, Iggy,” Gladio breathes, laughing slightly as he blinks his eyes open. “Shit... that was good.”

He watches as Gladio glances down at his stomach and scoops some of the wetness into his hand. “I guess we'd better get this cleaned up, huh?”

His tone is light and amused, which deepens Ignis's guilt. Gladio might have been a willing participant, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that Gladio hadn’t invited him here for this. He pulls off the condom and wordlessly accepts the paper towels Gladio gives him, swiping over the dampest parts before balling them up with the condom and dropping them into the trash.

Gladio's invitation and the thoughtful gift show that he was serious about them becoming friends. He’s always told himself that Gladio is the one responsible for all the times they’ve got carried away, but it’s clear that he’s the one with no self-restraint and that Gladio is the one capable of extending the hand of friendship without it being an automatic precursor to something physical between them.

Tonight proves he's unable to think rationally and sensibly when it comes to Gladio. Lust was what brought them together and bound them in those early days. It wasn’t all plain sailing, but they negotiated those waters well enough when that’s all it was.

Now... now, whatever this thing is between them has taken root, and to extricate himself will be hard, but infinitely less painful than if he leaves it too late and allows his heart to get involved. Wait... his _heart_? The thought catches him off guard and he inhales sharply. They were supposed to get back to the status quo; sex without feelings, enjoying each other's bodies as an outlet for their stressful lives. He feels stupid and— _worse_ —ridiculously naive at the thought that this was even remotely achievable.

Gladio is in the process of pulling on his t-shirt, the cloth muffling something he’s saying about getting a drink. Letting down his walls was a mistake. Gladio's a good man who deserves better. He has to _go_.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, buttoning his trousers as quickly as he can. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Gladio looks at him, clearly confused by this sudden mercurial shift in mood. “Iggy? Hey, no... don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m sorry, Gladio. I'm... I'm sorry.” With one last look at the other man, he turns and flees, hurrying from the house as if Ifrit himself is on his tail.

Noctis was wrong. It’s not possible to have someone in your life without it complicating all other aspects of it and proving to be a dangerous distraction. His duties are paramount—that’s not up for negotiation. There’s too much at stake here, for too many people. Gladio might be able to separate the two, but obviously he can’t. The fact that he might not _want_ to is what frightens him the most. So the answer is clear - if being friends with benefits is still too problematic then maybe he has to accept that they can’t be anything at all.

 

 


End file.
